


Learning To Breathe

by BeckyHarvey29



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Artist Mickey, Boys Kissing, Cancer, First Love, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Jealous Ian Gallagher, Jealous Mickey Milkovich, M/M, Protective Ian Gallagher, Sick Mickey, Slow Burn, Smut, Tutor Mickey, a walk to remember au, loosely based on the movie, tons of fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2018-04-06 09:42:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 38,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4216890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeckyHarvey29/pseuds/BeckyHarvey29
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian and Mickey fall in love. Ian has no idea that Mickey is keeping a devastating secret from him.</p>
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    <a href="https://imgbb.com/">
      <img/>
    </a>
  </p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. There's Something About You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is loosely based on the movie 'A Walk to Remember'. If you haven't seen the movie before, I suggest maybe reading up on it a little, so that you know kind of what to expect. This fic is, above all else, a love story. I can't guarantee a happy ending, but what I can guarantee is to make you feel, and to, hopefully, fall in love with their story.

Ian Gallagher sat in the chair across the desk from the principal, a smirk on his face as he leaned back in the cocky way he was prone to do, his eyebrow arched as he waited for the woman to get off the phone.

Ms. Henderson finally hung up the phone and fixed Ian with her most disapproving stare. "Mr. Gallagher."

"Ms. Henderson," Ian said back with confidence as he sat forward in his seat a little, waiting.

Even though Theresa Henderson had seen her fair share of Ian Gallagher in her office over the last three years, she had a soft spot for the kid, knowing about his neglectful and impoverished home life.

Ms. Henderson sighed before continuing. "You promised me that I wouldn't see you back in here this semester. This is the third time you've been called into my office in the past two months."

Ian sat back in his chair with a resigned sigh and scratched at the back of his neck, his bravado slipping.

"It was brought to my attention that you were caught smoking marijuana in the boys' locker room again."

"Now, to be fair," Ian interrupted, fixing her with his most charming smirk, "it was a cigarette _laced_ with marijuana."

Ms. Henderson continued on as if she hadn't heard him. "Upon speaking with your guidance counselor, it has also been brought to my attention that you're failing a few of your classes…trigonometry in particular, which is a biggie, Mr. Gallagher."

The smile slipped from Ian's face, and he ran a hand through his hair. "I thought I was here to talk about the weed, not my grades."

"Mr. Gallagher…Ian. You're in trouble here. The marijuana alone is enough to suspend you, maybe even expel you since this is your third offense." As soon as Ian opened his mouth to argue, she abruptly cut him off. "Now, expelling you wouldn't solve anything. I'm here to help you, not hinder you. Your grades are the far more important issue here."

Ian sighed and rubbed at his eye as the principal flipped through his file, which suddenly seemed surprisingly thick.

"I understand you're enrolled in the ROTC program here?"

"Yeah," Ian said slowly, his heart rate suddenly quickening. ROTC was the only thing in his fucked up, meager life that he actually really gave a shit about, and he'd be fucked if that was taken away from him.

"You do understand that you need to maintain a B average to stay in that program, right?" she asked. "You're currently holding a two-point-three GPA. That's barely a C average, Ian."

Ian leaned forward in his seat again, his eyebrows furrowed. "What exactly are you saying here?" His usual cool, calm, and cocky demeanor was long gone.

"I'm saying that, along with your guidance counselor Mr. Mitchell, I'm strongly advising that you get a tutor, Ian. In fact, I'm insisting upon it. We have a really good tutoring program here. They meet in the library every day after school. We have a lot of bright kids, fellow students of yours, that help and—"

"I don't have time for a fucking tutor," Ian shot back. "I have a life. I have a job and a family I have to help support, and I have ROTC—"

Ms. Henderson sighed and sat forward. "Mr. Gallagher, I'm not sure you understand me here. If you don't get a tutor, if you don't get your grades up, you won't have ROTC anymore."

"This is bullshit." Ian sat back in his seat and ran his hands over his face, defeated. "Fine, whatever," he finally mumbled before standing up and grabbing his backpack from the floor and heading towards the door.

"Oh, and Ian?"

Ian stopped with his hand on the doorknob and turned to regard her disdainfully.

"You know I still have to give you morning detention for the rest of the week, right? Smoking on school grounds is strictly prohibited."

Ian rolled his eyes and left the office, his day completely fucked.

  


* * *

  


The next morning, Ian walked into the school library where morning detention was always held. He felt as if he was stuck in some fucked up version of The Breakfast Club.

He glanced around at the other students and sighed, not really recognizing anyone. Of course his friends would pick that week to not fuck up and be in detention with him.

He walked to an empty table towards the back and sat down, not bothering to pull his hood off. He slouched down in his chair and pulled out his iPod after seeing that the teacher chaperoning the whole shit show was sitting at a table off to the side, flipping through a magazine and looking as if she couldn't care less about anything.

He placed the buds in his ears and scrolled through his music. He settled on a Five Finger Death Punch song and snuck a look around again to survey his fellow inmates.

He kind of recognized the goth girl at one of the front tables. She was one of those people he'd seen around here and there since kindergarten but didn't really know her name. He recognized the guy sitting at another table; some meathead jock from the football team. Normally, Ian was into jocks—had definitely fucked his fair share of the basketball _and_ football team—but this guy wasn't Ian's type. He was way too burly, too dumb looking. Ian would have to have a few Jager bombs in his system before he'd even consider hitting that.

He then glanced towards the table next to him. The guy was another one of those people he'd seen around everywhere but didn't exactly know. All Ian knew about him was that he was the slacker/stoner type, who didn't have many friends and who kept to himself. He wore the same dark, grungy outfit days in a row, and he had tattoos on his knuckles and a perpetual scowl, and Ian knew enough to keep the fuck away from him.

"The fuck are you looking at?"

It took Ian a few seconds to realize that the guy had caught him staring and was now speaking to him. He looked up into piercing blue eyes and quickly looked away. He sank further down into his seat and pulled the hood of his hoodie further down his forehead. The rest of the hour-long detention dragged on and, finally, they were released and Ian shot out of there like a bat out of hell.

  


* * *

  


The next morning, Ian walked into detention and claimed his spot at the same table from the morning before. He glanced over to see that the mean-looking loner guy was also sitting in the same spot.

Ian pulled out his iPod and scrolled through his music, sneaking furtive glances at him every so often. He noticed that the guy seemed to be sketching something in a notebook. What exactly he was drawing, Ian couldn't tell. Whatever it was, the guy seemed to be completely focused, even chewing on the end of his pencil at times or poking his tongue out in concentration.

Ian smiled softly, finding the guy's general grumpiness oddly charming. Plus, he wasn't all that bad to look at.

"You wanna take a fuckin' picture?" the guy snapped, never once taking his eyes away from his notebook.

Ian quickly looked away and reached into his backpack to pull out a book to look busy. When he glanced over at the guy again a few minutes later, Ian was surprised to find that he was the one being watched that time.

The guy quickly looked away, and then dug a hand in his hair. Ian could see, even from seven feet away, that the guy was silently chastising himself and cursing under his breath.

Ian grinned, thinking that maybe the guy wasn't so scary after all.

  


* * *

  


The next morning, Ian walked into detention and took his usual seat. Just like the past two mornings, the guy was sitting at the next table, looking tired and grumpy as all hell.

Instead of putting in his earbuds, Ian removed his hoodie and then grabbed his backpack. He pulled out a brown paper bag and pulled out the contents. He didn't even have to look to know that the guy was watching him from the corner of his eye.

Ian looked over at him. "Want some?" he asked, pointing down to his breakfast. "I have some Pop Tarts, a banana, and," he paused dramatically to hold up a small baggie, "some dry cereal. Froot Loops."

"You're a fucking fruit loop," the guy muttered before going back to his drawing.

"Suit yourself," Ian said as he began munching on his cereal. "What are you drawing over there, anyway?"

"None of your fucking business, that's what I'm drawing."

"Okay," Ian said slowly. "Don't like to share. Got it. Can I get your name at least?"

"Nope," the guy said as he grumpily erased a line he had just drawn.

"Why not?"

"Do you mind? I'm trying to fucking concentrate here, and I can't really do that with you yammering in my ear."

"You're the only seventeen-year-old I know that uses the word yammering."

"Fuck off."

Ian watched him with narrowed eyes as he shook his handful of cereal loosely in his hand. "Well, I'm Ian…in case you were wondering."

"Wasn't."

"Are you—"

"Jesus fucking Christ," the guy mumbled. "If I tell you my name, will you leave me the fuck alone?"

"Maybe," Ian said, and then smiled when the guy locked eyes with him.

The guy sighed in annoyance but answered anyway. "Mickey."

"Nice to meet you, Mickey," Ian said as he began unpeeling his banana. "What are you in for?"

"Huh?" Mickey asked in annoyance.

"Detention. What are you in for?"

Mickey opened his mouth to answer, but then stopped himself. He settled on, "None of your goddamn business."

Ian nodded as he bit into his banana. He then began talking around his mushy food. "I got caught smoking weed in the locker room."

"Good for you," Mickey snapped. "You feel like a bad ass now?"

Ian laughed and shook his head. His eyes then dropped to Mickey's paper. "So, what're you drawing?"

"I'm going to be drawing blood from your lip in about two seconds if you don't leave me the hell alone."

Ian slouched back in his seat, deciding not to push his luck.

  


* * *

  


On his fourth day of detention, Ian walked into the library and was disappointed to find that Mickey wasn't there. He took his usual seat. He then glanced over at a girl sitting at a table adjacent to him. "Psst! Hey, you know Mickey?"

The girl gave him a slightly baleful look over her shoulder. "The greasy kid who always has his face glued to his sketchbook?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, I know him," she said with a shrug.

"Is he in detention a lot?"

"Every day, as far as I know," she said. "I think he just comes here because he doesn't like being at home. It's kind of sad, actually."

"What do you mean he doesn't like to be at home?"

The girl looked annoyed and just shrugged before going back to her book.

Ian sat back in his seat and glanced back over at Mickey's chair, suddenly even more intrigued by the guy.

Ten minutes later, someone entered through the heavy metal door and stalked in. Ian smiled gingerly when he looked up and saw that it was Mickey who had walked in, his head down as he made his way to his usual seat.

Once he was sitting, he snuck a look at Ian. "Can I help you?"

"Thought you weren't going to be here today."

"The fuck's it to you?" Mickey asked as he pulled his trusty sketchbook out.

Ian bent down to grab his own backpack and pulled out his brown paper bag. He reached in and pulled out his usual pack of Pop Tarts, banana, and—that time—two baggies of cereal. Without saying anything, he tossed the extra baggie of cereal onto Mickey's table.

Mickey stared down at it before looking up at Ian with arched eyebrows. "The fuck is this?"

"Those, my good man, are Oreo O's. The fact that I'm even sharing my Oreo O's with you—those delicious morsels of absolute perfection—you should be fucking grateful."

To Ian's absolute delight, the corner of Mickey's lip twitched upwards. "Oh, is that right?"

"Mm hm."

Mickey kept his eyes locked with Ian's as he grabbed the baggie. "You're fucking weird, you know that?"

Ian grinned, and then tossed a handful of his own cereal into his mouth. He watched as Mickey went back to his drawing, this time munching on his cereal as he did so.

Ian felt it was a good step forward.

  


* * *

  


Ian's fifth and final day of detention was bittersweet. He hated getting up an hour early, and he hated the boredom of it all, but he found that he was starting to look forward to seeing Mickey every day. In his bleak, mediocre life, he didn't really have much to look forward to.

Mickey was sitting where he usually sat, and Ian decided to take a chance and sat down in the chair right next to him.

When Mickey looked over at him, eyebrows arched in warning, Ian smiled gingerly and shrugged. "This is our last day together, you know?" He watched as Mickey covered up whatever he was drawing with both hands.

Ian opened his backpack and pulled out his usual brown bag and handed Mickey his own baggie of cereal just like the day before. "So, you still not going to let me see what you're drawing?"

"No," Mickey said grumpily.

Ian sighed. "Come on, Mick, I thought we were becoming friends here," he teased, bumping his shoulder playfully against Mickey's.

"Yeah, well, you thought wrong, Opie."

Ian smiled at him cheekily as he pulled out his trigonometry book and notepad, deciding he might as well try to get some of his math homework done. He still hadn't gone to the tutoring sessions after school. The true procrastinator that he was, he was putting if off for as long as he possibly could.

He opened his book and buried his forehead in his hand as he tried to get lost in it. Nothing made any fucking sense to him. After a few minutes, he threw his pencil down and cursed.

"The fuck's your problem?"

"Trig is my fucking problem," Ian grumbled. He then stiffened when Mickey leaned in closer to take a look at his work, the fabric of his Black Sabbath tank brushing against Ian's arm and sending shivers down his spine.

"What are you having trouble with?"

Ian suddenly realized just how incredible Mickey smelled. For someone who looked as if they hadn't showered in two days, he sure smelled fucking good. "Uh, everything," he choked out, his pulse quickening.

Mickey pulled away and rubbed a hand at the back of his neck. Of course, his sketchbook was closed so Ian couldn't see. "Well, I'm kinda good at math. Maybe I can help you out."

Before Ian could think about what he was doing, he let out a hearty laugh. "Yeah, right."

A dark look crossed Mickey's face then, and Ian knew in an instant that he had fucked up.

"Ay, fuck you, man," Mickey spat.

"No. No, I didn't mean it like that," Ian babbled. "I just meant that…well, you don't exactly look like you'd be…that—"

"What? I look fucking stupid to you?"

"No, I…that's not what I—"

"Fuck off," Mickey said again, his face reddening. "Because I'm dirty and I'm always in detention and I have tattoos, I can't possibly be fucking smart, right?"

"That's not what I meant," Ian defended. He then watched as Mickey gathered up his things and stood up.

"Where are you going? It's detention. You can't just leave."

"Don't worry about it. I'm not even supposed to fucking be here," Mickey spat. He then threw Ian's baggie of cereal at him. "Keep your stupid fucking stale ass cereal."

Ian watched as Mickey stalked out of the library, the heavy metal door falling shut noisily behind him.

  


* * *

  


Later that day, as Ian was making his way towards his last period class, he spotted Mickey in the hallway and took a chance and walked up to him. He liked Mickey. He was cute in his own way, and he was funny, especially when he didn't even mean to be. Ian wanted to know him, and he certainly hadn't meant to offend him.

"Mickey."

Mickey turned around, his frown deepening when he saw that it was Ian calling his name. "The fuck do you want, Gallagher?"

"I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to offend you. It's just how I am, I say shit without thinking most of the time. I'm a fucking dumbass."

"Fucking right you are," Mickey said as he moved to walk past him.

Ian shot a hand out without thinking and stopped him.

Mickey looked down at Ian's hand on his arm and hesitated for just a few seconds before shaking it off. He then lifted his eyes to Ian's. "Touch me again, I'll break your hand."

Ian took a step back and ran a hand through his hair. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I was an asshole. I'd really like it if you would tutor me. I really need it, and I'd rather you help me than some fucking preppy douchebag I don't even know."

"And what do I get out of it?" Mickey shot back just as the bell rang.

Ian could think of a few things he would like to give Mickey in return for his services, but instead, he said, "I don't know…maybe I can pay you?"

Mickey ran his tongue over his bottom lip before glancing down the hall, seemingly thinking it over. "Fine. What the fuck ever. We'll come up with a payment agreement later."

Ian nodded and wiped his palms on the front of his jeans, his heart quickening in his chest. "Can we meet up tomorrow, after school? I'm free."

"Yeah. Tomorrow," Mickey murmured. "Whatever."

"Thanks, Mickey."

"Don't fucking mention it," Mickey said before brushing past Ian and continuing down the hall.

Before Mickey could get far, Ian called out to him. "I never told you my last name."

Mickey turned around to regard him warily. "Fuck are you talking about?"

"You called me by my last name. I never told you what my last name is," Ian said with a small smile. "Either you knew who I was already, or you did your homework on me." He was delighted when he saw a blush rise on Mickey's cheeks.

"Fuck off," Mickey spat before turning around and heading off.

Ian watched after Mickey with a smile until he rounded a corner and was out of sight.

He didn't witness Mickey stopping after he rounded the corner, his tough demeanor melting away once he was out of Ian's sight. He didn't get to see Mickey clutching at the wall as dizziness and nausea overcame him. As always, Mickey waited for it to pass before brushing it off, straightening up, and heading to his next class, all the while blinking back the bitter tears that formed at the corners of his eyes.


	2. You Were Always the Cold One

Ian had been sitting on the front steps of the school, smoking a cigarette out in the open as he waited for Mickey. He figured if he got caught smoking for a fourth time, the worst that could happen was he would get detention again, and detention only meant more time spent with Mickey, and he was oddly okay with that.

As soon as Mickey came walking out from the school, Ian shot to his feet. "Hey."

"Hey," Mickey said gruffly. "You ready to get this shit over with?" he asked, nodding his head back towards the school.

"Aren't we going to your house?" Ian asked, clearly confused.

"Shit, no," Mickey said. "We're going to the library. That's where the tutoring happens."

"Wait, are you part of the tutoring program? You're one of the _bright_ students that helps out?"

Mickey plucked the cigarette from Ian's hand and took a drag. "Told you I wasn't fucking stupid," he said as he stomped the cigarette out, turned, and headed back into the school.

Ian ran a hand through his hair and sighed, thinking that being alone with Mickey in his house seemed like a much better idea than the school's library surrounded by a couple dozen other people.

  


* * *

  


After doing the sample questions Mickey had made up for him, Ian slid his paper in front of Mickey for his inspection. He watched as Mickey's beautiful eyes darted back and forth, checking his work.

"Yeah, you're right. You fucking blow," Mickey said.

"Shut up," Ian mumbled as he snatched his paper back.

Mickey laughed. "Relax, tough guy. That's why I'm here to help you, remember?"

Ian watched as Mickey began gnawing on his lower lip as he skimmed over Ian's textbook. When Mickey looked up, Ian quickly looked away, not wanting to get caught staring.

If Mickey had noticed Ian's blatant staring, he didn't say anything, just cleared his throat and leaned in to try to explain the sample problems as best he could.

  


* * *

  


Ian found that the tutoring session went by faster than he had wanted it to. As they were gathering their things to go, he asked the first thing that came to mind. "You want to go grab some food, maybe? My sister works over at Patsy's Diner. We can use her discount."

"Nah, man, can't," was all Mickey said.

"Okay," Ian said. "Maybe another day, then?"

Mickey sighed. "I doubt it. Look, man. You and me…we ain't friends, alright? I'm just helping you with your math, that's it. There's no need for us to get personal. The only thing I need to know about you is how your grades are doing. The only thing you need to know about me is that I'm performing CPR on your math grade. Let's keep it that way, alright?"

Ian frowned as he followed Mickey out of the library. "What's so wrong with us becoming friends, huh?"

"I don't do friends," Mickey said flatly as he made his way down the hall.

"Why not? There has to be a reason," Ian said as he struggled to keep up with Mickey's quick strides.

"Don't you have other friends you can go bother, man?"

"Yeah, of course I have other friends," Ian scoffed.

Mickey stopped abruptly, causing Ian to bump into him from behind. He turned around and his eyes searched Ian's face for a few seconds before he quickly stepped back. He visibly swallowed and looked away. "Go hang out with them, then. I'm not interested."

Ian just stood there and watched as Mickey continued towards the exit.

  


* * *

  


The next day, things were awkward between them. They barely spoke two words to each other; they just went through the motions. Mickey would give Ian some sample problems before going back to his own homework, Ian would do the problems, and then hand them over to Mickey to check.

Once the session was over, they both gathered their things and stood up. Ian opened his mouth to say something, but Mickey was already walking away, not wanting to hear anything Ian had to say.

  


* * *

  


The third study session was absolutely uncomfortable, and Ian hated every second of it. Mickey wasn't saying anything at all now, and Ian was doing everything he could not to flip out and ask what the hell his problem was. Was engaging in conversation with Ian really that fucking horrible?

After shooting furtive glances at Mickey the whole time without getting so much as a glance back, Ian was at the end of his rope by the end of the session.

As Mickey was gathering up his things, Ian finally erupted.

"Alright, what the fuck's your problem?"

Mickey looked at Ian, his expression unreadable.

"Honestly? Am I really that fucking bad that you don't even want to look at me? Is holding a conversation with me really that fucking horrible?"

"I told you—"

"Yeah, I know what you told me. You don't want to be friends. Whatever, I got it. But you don't have to be a fucking dick about it." Ian slung his backpack over his shoulder and brushed past Mickey to walk away. "I'm out. I can take a fuckin' hint. I'll find another tutor."

"Ay, man, wait."

Ian was taken by surprise when he felt a hand on his forearm, stopping him. He looked down at Mickey's hand, down at his tattoos, and he swallowed down the thick lump in his throat.

Mickey removed his hand quickly, and then shuffled a little back and forth. "Look, you don't have to find another tutor, alright?"

Ian lifted his eyes, daring himself to stare back at the other man. "Why are you being such a prick?"

"I just," Mickey began, reaching up to rub at his lower lip with his thumb. "I don't like people getting close. I don't like people knowing about me. I just like to keep to myself, alright? You get that?"

"Doesn't that get lonely?" Ian asked, his anger slowly dissipating.

"I like it like that. It's easier like that," Mickey snapped.

Ian sighed and hefted his backpack higher on his shoulder. "Look, man, it's just food, okay? I'll buy since you're helping me out. And you won't have to tell me anything about yourself that you don't want me to know. Shit, we don't even have to talk if you don't want to."

Mickey regarded Ian warily for a long stretch of time before asking, "Why are you pushing so hard for this?"

Ian shrugged a shoulder. "I like being around you, I guess. You're real, and you're different."

"Real and different, huh?" Mickey asked huskily. He then said, "Fine. We'll go get food. And, since you're paying, I should probably warn you that I'm fucking famished."

"Great," Ian mumbled as he turned to follow Mickey out of the library.

  


* * *

  


As soon as they entered the diner and sat down, Ian caught Fiona's eyes and shrugged his shoulders a little when she gave him a questioning look concerning Mickey's presence.

Mickey was already eagerly scanning over the menu. "I'm fuckin' starving."

"The pie's really good here."

"I could eat a whole pie right now," Mickey said. He then asked, "Ay, what time is it?"

Ian glanced down at his watch. "Almost six."

"Oh," Mickey said, suddenly looking odd. "Fuck."

"What? What's wrong?"

"Uh, I need to go to the restroom real quick. I'll be back," Mickey said as he grabbed his backpack and headed towards the men's restroom.

As soon as the coast was clear, Fiona came sauntering over. "So, who's your new friend?"

"You just couldn't help yourself, could you?"

Fiona only smirked at him.

Ian sighed. "He's a friend from school. He's helping me out with math."

"Uh huh," Fiona said, giving him a look. "The way you were looking at him, I can tell you'd like him to be maybe more than a friend?"

Ian laughed. "Yeah, well, even if that were true, I'm pretty sure he's as fucking straight as they come. And, even if by some small chance he's not straight, I'm pretty sure he hates me."

"If he hates you, why's he here with you?"

"I don't know, maybe because I bribed him with free food? Don't you have your own fucked up guy drama to deal with? How many boyfriends are you juggling _this_ week?" Ian asked with narrowed eyes, which earned him a slap on the back of the head, which he playfully shrunk away from.

Just then, Mickey came walking back over, his eyes downcast as he slid back into the booth.

"You guys know what you want yet?" Fiona asked, pen poised, pretending not to look Mickey over.

"Yeah, I'll have a slice of apple pie, extra ice cream on top, and a Coke," Ian said.

"I'll have a burger with everything on it, cheese fries, onion rings, a slice of the blueberry pie, and a strawberry milkshake, extra thick," Mickey said, snapping his menu shut and handing it back to Fiona.

Ian gawked at him as Fiona wrote down the order. After his sister was gone, he said, "What the fuck, man? How much money do you think I have?"

"You shoulda thought about that before you went around offering to buy people food."

"I didn't know I was offering it to someone who has a fucking bottomless pit for a stomach, Jesus."

Mickey laughed, genuinely fucking laughed, and Ian realized it was the first time he really heard Mickey laugh in the week and a half he'd known him. He suddenly decided he wasn't really that mad.

Until Mickey hit him with a spitball right in the face and then, okay, then he was kind of mad.

  


* * *

  


The next tutoring session was going a little smoother than the previous ones. They were actually talking now. It wasn't a full-blown, meaningful conversation, but it was something.

"So, when's your next test?" Mickey asked.

"Friday," Ian said as he checked over his work. "I'll probably fail it."

"You'll do fine. You're getting better, man," Mickey assured him. "Just keep looking over those sample problems I showed you."

Ian looked up and, as usual, allowed himself to watch Mickey through his eyelashes. He realized he liked looking at Mickey. He liked how long his eyelashes were. He liked how pale his skin was, and how dark his hair looked against his skin. He liked how Mickey's tongue would poke out from between his lips when he concentrated really hard. He liked Mickey's tattoos. He especially liked Mickey's eyebrows, and how you could always tell Mickey's mood just by his eyebrows.

Right then, Mickey's eyebrows were arched slightly as he looked over Ian's work, so Ian knew he had done well.

"You got them all right," Mickey said, a grin spreading across his face. "I'm fucking impressed, Gallagher."

Ian smiled back. "Really?"

"Yeah, man. I think you're finally starting to get the hang of it."

Ian watched as Mickey looked up and, for a few brief seconds, their eyes locked and something passed between them. Just as quickly as it had happened, Mickey looked away and broke the moment.

"Anyways, we should get going," Mickey said as he started gathering his things.

"You want to go get some food?" Ian asked as he stood up. "I'll buy."

"Nah, man, not today," Mickey said, much to Ian's disappointment. "I have something I have to deal with at home."

Ian wanted so bad to ask him what that something was, but he knew better than to ask something personal. "Okay. I have ROTC tomorrow after school, but maybe we can meet up after so I can get a good study session in before the test?"

"Yeah, whatever. I'll meet you outside on the front steps at five tomorrow."

Ian stood back and watched as Mickey walked away. His eyes dropped to Mickey's ass.

He hated to see Mickey go, but loved watching him leave.

  


* * *

  


After ROTC practice the next day, Ian stood on the steps outside of the school and waited for Mickey for over a half an hour.

Mickey never showed.

  


* * *

  


The following day after he'd been stood up, Ian saw Mickey standing at his locker with a pretty brunette girl. He ignored the spark of jealousy he felt in his chest at the sight. He hefted his backpack higher on his shoulder and decided to confront him, still pissed off that he had been stood up.

"Hey."

Mickey looked up, the small smile he had on his face disappearing. "Hey."

"Who the fuck's this?" the girl with too much eyeliner asked.

Mickey sighed and ran a hand over his mouth. "This is Ian. Ian, this is my sister Mandy. He's just some kid I've been tutoring," he explained to her with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Ian wished Mickey's words didn't sting, but they did. He liked to believe that they were a little more to each other by now than just Mickey's tutoring charity case.

Mandy seemed uninterested and shrugged. "Alright, asshole. I'll see you at home," she said before walking away.

"So, that's your sister? Are you guys twins?"

"No," Mickey said gruffly as he shut his locker and began walking down the hallway.

Naturally, Ian followed him. "Where were you yesterday? I didn't see you in school all day, and then I waited for you on the steps like we planned and you never showed up."

"Something came up," Mickey said glumly as he kept walking.

"That's it? Something came up?" Ian asked irritably, wondering why he even bothered with the guy. Mickey obviously didn't want anything to do with him. "That's all you're gonna give me? Something came up?"

"I don't know what else you want me to say, man."

"You know what? Fuck this," Ian grumbled and turned to head off.

If Mickey was so adamant about not being friends, then Ian was done.

* * *

Ian was digging into his lunch when a shadow fell over him. He looked up and slowly swallowed his food when he saw Mickey standing in front of him, tray in hand.

Without bothering to ask permission, Mickey pulled the chair across from Ian out and sat down. He didn't even bother looking at Ian as he grabbed his chocolate milk and shook it.

Ian slowly chewed on his food as he watched him. Finally, fucking finally, Mickey looked at him.

"What?" Mickey asked.

"Really? You're not gonna say anything?"

Mickey sighed. "Nothing can ever just be easy with you, can it?" He then rolled his eyes and said, "I was sick yesterday, alright? I didn't come to school because I was sick. Happy now."

"No, I'm not."

"What the fuck is it now?"

"I want you to admit that we're friends. I want you to admit that you like hanging out with me," Ian said, deciding to just go all in. "That I'm not just some dumb kid you're tutoring."

"I already told you; I don't do friends," Mickey shot back.

"I'm not asking you to do me, I'm just asking you to admit that we're friends," Ian said, his lips curling into a smile. He was then relieved when Mickey finally laughed curtly with a shake of his head.

"Fuck, man, you're seriously the most annoying person I've ever met, you know that?"

Ian shrugged a shoulder and waited.

"Fine, alright, Jesus," Mickey relented. "We're friends. You fucking happy now?"

Ian reached over and snatched one of his fries. "Uh huh."

  


* * *

  


Another week flew by in a blur. Between school, work, ROTC, and tutoring, Ian was starting to feel worn out. He walked into the library and plopped down in the seat opposite Mickey with a yawn.

"You look like shit, man," Mickey pointed out as he looked up from his homework.

"Thanks. I feel like shit," Ian said as he stifled another yawn. He rubbed at his eye with the heel of his hand and looked Mickey over, thinking that Mickey looked extra good that day. It looked as if he had actually showered and shaved, and it smelled like he was wearing some type of cologne.

"You got a date or something after this?" Ian asked, the very thought of Mickey going on a date turning his stomach.

"Why are you asking me stupid fucking questions?" Mickey asked, not bothering to look up from his writing.

"You look nice, and you smell good," Ian pointed out. "Kinda seems like you're trying to impress someone, like you're going out on a date, or something."

Mickey visibly stiffened for a split second before relaxing. He still didn't bother looking up as he mumbled, "No, I don't have a date."

Ian continued watching him, watched as his soft, pink tongue licked at his bottom lip. "Do you have a girlfriend?" he asked before he could fully think about it.

"What did I tell you about asking me personal shit?" Mickey snapped.

"It's just a question."

"Well, why's it matter who I'm banging?"

"It doesn't, I'm just making conversation."

"Well, it's none of your business," Mickey snapped. "I don't go around asking you if you have a fucking girlfriend."

"I don't," Ian said. On Mickey's look, he added, "have a girlfriend."

"Okay," Mickey said slowly.

"In fact, there's probably something you should know about me," Ian said, leaning forward a little, his heart hammering in his throat. He didn't know why he felt the need to share this with Mickey. All he knew was that he wanted Mickey to know. "I'm gay." He braced himself, waiting for Mickey to immediately get up and walk away, maybe even punch him in the face.

Instead, Mickey just sat there, staring down at his paper, his tongue still working on his bottom lip.

"So?" Ian said, arching an eyebrow. "Nothing to say? Your new best friend just admitted he's gay, and you have nothing to say?"

"For one, you're not my best friend," Mickey retorted, "so stop saying shit like that. For two, why the fuck would I care if you're gay? What you do in your free time—who you stick your dick into—is your business. Ain't got shit to do with me."

Ian ran a hand through his hair, knowing that last part wasn't entirely true. "So, you're cool with it, then?"

"Yeah, man," Mickey said, still not bothering to look up. "Just don't do anything fucking stupid like fall in love with me."

Ian smirked before looking down at his own work. "Don't worry," he said with a chortle. "I won't."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mickey totally wore cologne for Ian ;)


	3. All Mixed Up

Three weeks passed by, and Ian and Mickey grew even closer. Little by little, Ian was able to get Mickey to come out of his shell more and more, even though Mickey fought him tooth and nail almost every step of the way.

Ian realized he liked Mickey the more he got to know him.

Mickey liked to laugh at Ian's dumb jokes when he thought no one was looking. When he got nervous or apprehensive, he would rub at his lower lip with his thumb. He liked anchovies and pineapple on his pizza, and he owned every Steven Seagal movie under the sun. His favorite word was fuck, he absolutely despised winter because he hated wearing shirts with sleeves, and he loved sucking on those gross rootbeer hard candies.

Ian was crushing hard.

He knew it was stupid, crushing on a guy who was so obviously straight, and who would probably kick his ass if he knew, but Ian couldn't help it. Mickey was the most interesting person Ian had ever met, and he was hot as fuck to top it off. It was kind of hard not to like him.

Ian fully intended on keeping his crush to himself. As long as Mickey never found out about it, what could it hurt? There was no reason why some tiny little infatuation—that would most likely pass in a week or two—should get in the way of the friendship they were forming.

He walked into the school library and found Mickey sitting at their usual table in the back corner, his books and homework spread out in front of him. Ian smiled to himself and his heart fluttered a little at the sight.

That was another thing he liked about Mickey; even though he didn't look like it, he was so fucking smart. He put Ian to shame with how smart he was but never made Ian feel stupid. If anything, he did everything he could to not make Ian feel like an idiot.

"Hey," Ian said breathlessly as he dropped down into the seat opposite Mickey.

Mickey looked up and that's when Ian realized he was wearing glasses. "Hey," he said quickly before dropping his head again and rubbing at his bottom lip.

Ian smiled, thinking Mickey looked absolutely fucking adorable in his specs. "I didn't know you wore glasses."

"Yeah, yeah. Get the jokes out of the way now, asshole," Mickey grumbled. "I ran outta contacts."

"They look good on you," Ian said before fulling thinking it through. He half-expected Mickey to shoot him a disgusted look. Instead, Mickey glanced up briefly, and then back down and, if Ian didn't know any better, he'd say Mickey was blushing. Ian could only grin harder.

"So, how'd you do on your test?" Mickey asked, obviously trying to change the subject.

Ian reached into his backpack and pulled out his trig test that was marked with a big, fat, red B+. "All thanks to you."

"Nah, man," Mickey said, locking eyes with him again. "That was all you. I only gave you a push here and there."

"Yeah, well, I couldn't have done it without you."

Mickey looked up, their eyes catching—another one of those weird inexplicable moments passing between them—before Mickey quickly looked away again.

Ian cleared his throat and ran a hand over his hair, silently berating himself. If he wanted to keep Mickey's friendship and not freak him out, he was going to have to chill with the fucking creepy looks.

"So," Ian began when a weird silence ensued. "What are you doing after school today? You wanna go to the diner and grab something to eat? Fiona will be there, so we can get some free pie."

Over the past three weeks, Ian and Mickey spent four days out of the week in the library after school; Mickey helping Ian with his math, and then afterward they usually went to Patsy's diner for milkshakes and pie. It was a nice little routine that Ian was becoming quite fond of.

"Can't, man," was Mickey's answer. "Gotta deal with something at home."

Ian watched him, once again getting the sense that Mickey was hiding something from him. For as much as Mickey was starting to open up to him, his home life was something he never talked about. Any time Ian would ask about Mickey's sister or where he lived, Mickey would get flustered, and would snap and abruptly change the subject.

Ian knew when to back down and he nodded, even though he wanted to ask so many questions. He wanted to know everything. "Okay, maybe tomorrow, then?"

"Yeah, maybe," Mickey grumbled.

Ian watched as Mickey went back to his homework, essentially ending the conversation. He watched as Mickey's glasses slid a little down his nose, and he ached to reach out and slide them back up.

  


* * *

  


Two days later, Ian was sitting on the front steps of the school with a few of his ROTC friends. They were laughing and talking animatedly around him, but his mind didn't process anything they were saying since he had spotted Mickey walking towards them, his head down and his eyes focused on his iPod.

Ian chewed on his lower lip as he watched him. He hadn't seen Mickey since the other day in the library. He had a weird feeling that Mickey was ignoring him for some reason. Anytime he saw Mickey in the hallway, Mickey would suddenly change course and walk in another direction. Any time he texted Mickey just to see what was up, Mickey would take forever to answer and, when he finally did respond, it was a one or two word answer and nothing more.

Ian didn't know what the hell was going on, but he had every intention of finding out.

Just as Mickey was about to climb the steps and head into the school, Ian hopped up and walked up to him, ignoring his friends' sudden silence and blatant stares. "Hey, Mick."

Mickey's head snapped up, and his face fell when he saw Ian. He lifted a hand and slowly removed the earbud from his ear.

Vaguely, Ian could hear the music Mickey was listening to. The corner of his lip quirked upwards when he realized Mickey was listening to the band Ian had suggested to him the week before. The fact that Mickey even valued Ian's opinion on anything made his heart skip a beat.

"The fuck do you want?" Mickey asked.

Behind them, Ian's friends snickered and whispered crudely among themselves.

Ian shot them a perturbed look over his shoulder before glancing back at Mickey, who looked nonplussed. "I was just wondering why you weren't answering my texts and calls. Are we meeting up at the library later after school?"

Mickey opened his mouth to say something, but then stopped when one of Ian's particularly snarky friends coughed a derogatory slur into his fist. Mickey's face grew red, and he avoided Ian's eyes. "Just fuck off," he muttered before brushing past Ian and going inside the school.

Ian spun around and glared at his asshole friends, who were chortling and clutching at their sides. "You guys are such fucking assholes," he said as he snatched his backpack up and moved to head inside the building.

"Is that your new boyfriend?" his friend Kent called out. "Decided to start slumming it?"

Ian resisted the strong urge to deck the other boy and continued on his way, hoping he could catch Mickey before he got to his class.

"Mickey!" he called out when he caught sight of Mickey rounding a corner up ahead. He jogged and rounded the corner. Before he could fully grasp what was happening, a firm hand pressed against his chest, and he was pushed back against the wall in an alcove under the stairs. The breath was knocked completely out of him as he stared down at Mickey, who looked anything but happy.

"I don't need your stupid fuckin' friends laughing at me, alright?" Mickey snarled. "Your boyfriend is lucky I didn't fuck his pretty little face up."

Ian frowned and grabbed at Mickey's wrist, tugging his hand away from his chest. "Relax, Mickey. He's not my fucking boyfriend, first of all, and I can't control what he does and says."

Ian was surprised. This was the first time he had seen Mickey this angry and shaken up. He got the strong urge to reach out and touch him, to comfort him, but he resisted once again.

"I have enough shit to deal with alright, I don't need to worry about some pansy ass thinking he's better than me," Mickey snapped.

Ian watched him, noticing that Mickey looked a little white in the face and his body was trembling. "Mick? Hey, Mick, are you alright?"

Mickey stepped to the side and braced an arm against the wall, hanging his head and taking a few deep breaths.

"Mick," Ian murmured, stepping closer and placing his hand on Mickey's forearm. "Fuck, are you okay?"

Mickey roughly shook Ian's hand off of his arm and ran a shaky hand over his face. And, just like that, he seemed fine again; as good as new. "Just tell your fuckin' friends to watch themselves," he spat before brushing past Ian and rounding the corner.

Ian stood frozen in place, staring at the spot where Mickey had just been standing in, left wondering what the fuck had just happened.

  


* * *

  


After school, Ian headed towards the library on the off chance that Mickey would be there. He smiled to himself when he saw Mickey sitting at their table in the back corner. He made his way over to him and took his usual seat across from him.

Mickey didn't even bother looking up as he continued scribbling in his sketchbook.

Ian watched him for a hair over a little too long before his eyes dropped to the books spread out in front of Mickey. He looked at Mickey's sketchpad in particular.

That was another part of Mickey's life he had yet to learn about. Mickey loved to draw; he had said so himself on a few occasions…Ian just didn't know exactly _what_ he liked to draw. He would do almost anything to be able to take a peek inside that sketchbook.

When he looked back up, he found Mickey watching him with an arched eyebrow.

"Can I help you with something?" Mickey snapped.

Ian twirled his pencil between his fingers and wet his lips. "Just wondering if you were ever going to show me any of your drawings."

"No," Mickey said simply.

"Why not?"

"Because it's none of your business, that's why not."

Ian sighed. "Look, Mick…I'm sorry about my friends, alright? They're fucking assholes, I know that. I told them as much. I defended you—"

"You don't need to defend me," Mickey retorted haughtily. "I ain't your family, I ain't your fucking boyfriend. I can defend myself. Like I said, just tell them to keep their fucking opinions to themselves unless they want an imprint of my fist on their face."

Ian watched him, wondering why Mickey was being so ruthless and antagonistic all of a sudden. "I just wanted to—"

"Look, if you're just going to sit there and talk the whole time, maybe you should just go. I have a shit ton of work to do, and I don't really have time for idle fucking chit-chat."

Once Mickey went back to his work, Ian nodded to himself and stood up to gather his things. "I'll leave you alone, then," he mumbled before turning and heading out of the library.

He didn't notice the way Mickey slumped in his seat as soon as his back was turned, or the way he threw his pencil down and ran a shaky hand over his face as he tried to keep himself together.

  


* * *

  


Ian was sitting at the counter of the diner, mindlessly poking at his milkshake with his straw.

"Where's Mickey?" Fiona asked as she wiped at the counter in front of him. "You two have been attached at the hip the past few weeks."

Ian shrugged. "Pretty sure he hates me."

"He hates you?" Fiona asked with a quirked eyebrow. Funny. Judging by the looks she had seen Mickey giving her little brother over the past couple of weeks, she had assumed the exact opposite. "Why do you think he hates you?"

"Who the fuck knows. Maybe I get on his nerves or something. The past couple of days he's been ignoring my texts, and when we are around each other, he gets mad so easily," Ian said glumly before grabbing his cherry and tugging it from its stem with his teeth.

Fiona opened her mouth to say something, but then smiled softly and nudged him with a nod of her head. "Looks like someone's here to see ya."

Ian frowned and then looked over his shoulder to see that Mickey had entered the diner and was looking towards the back at their usual booth. His face broke into a grin, which only grew wider once Mickey turned his head and spotted him.

Mickey's shoulders slumped and he hung his head before making his way over. He slipped into the stool next to Ian and grabbed for a menu, not bothering to look Ian in the face.

Ian was still smiling as he watched him.

"The fuck're you looking at?" Mickey snapped as his eyes skimmed over the menu, even though his words held no contempt.

"So, I take it you're done being pissed at me?"

Mickey sighed and closed his menu with a dramatic snap before finally looking at him. "I wasn't really mad at you, alright. I was mad at myself for letting your prick friends get to me."

"Why did you let them get to you?"

Mickey ran a hand over his face and shrugged. "Fuck, man, I don't know. I mean, I should be used to people looking down on me, shouldn't I? I've been dealing with that shit for years. People see my tattoos, and my dirty thrift store clothes, and think I'm just some scumbag fuck up."

"You shouldn't let people get to you, Mickey," Ian said, his eyes searching Mickey's face. He watched as Mickey held his gaze, his features softening. "You're the best person I know. Fuck everyone else."

Fiona stood in the doorway leading into the kitchen and watched as Ian and Mickey stared at each other before they both shyly glanced away. She had caught the tail end of what Ian had said, and she smiled softly before turning to give them their privacy. She had a feeling her little brother was about to experience his very first real love.

  


* * *

  


The next day, Ian made his way down the walkway towards the school, his eyes focused down on his phone. When he glanced up, he found his friends sitting on the front steps as usual, probably talking about nonsensical shit like always; shit like sports and girls and whatever fucking party they were going to over the weekend…things he didn't give two shits about.

They all looked up when he stopped in front of them.

"Where's your boyfriend, Gallagher?" Kent asked, which caused Brian and Steve to chortle behind him.

"Fuck you," Ian said as he sat down, hoping they would drop it. He opened his backpack and began digging for the pack of smokes he knew were in there somewhere.

"Oh, look…here comes the scumbag now," Steven taunted.

"Fucking lay off him, alright?" Ian snapped just as Mickey reached them and began heading up the steps. Their eyes caught briefly before Mickey looked away. His heart sank, feeling like an asshole for even still hanging out with the guys.

The truth of the matter was that Ian had known the guys since kindergarten and, aside from them being dicks the past couple of days, they really were his best friends. He couldn't just throw that away over a few snide remarks.

"Hey, where're you going, dirtbag?" Kent called out just as Mickey was about to head inside. "You think you're too fucking good for us?"

"Kent, shut the fuck up," Ian hissed.

"Relax, man," Kent said with a laugh and a hard pat to Ian's back. "So, tell us…do you at least make him shower first before you lick his asshole? Dude's grimy as hell."

Ian snapped and, before Kent could wrap his pretty little head around what was happening, Ian grabbed Kent roughly by the front of his shirt and hefted him up so that they were both standing nose to nose. "I told you to leave him the fuck alone."

Brian and Steve shot to their feet, yelling for the two to stop, all joking finally aside.

"Gallagher, ease up, man, he was fucking joking!" Brian exclaimed.

Ian wasn't backing down. He practically touched the tip of his nose to Kent's as he stared him down, his face hot and his body trembling with anger. In his periphery, he could see Mickey standing at the entrance to the school, watching it all go down.

Kent finally gathered his wits and pressed his hands to Ian's chest, pushing him away roughly, causing Ian to nearly stumble backwards down the steps. Kent was also red and radiating with anger as he bent down to snatch his backpack up. "Fuck you! You're done!" he yelled, pointing his finger in Ian's face. "We're done!"

Ian watched with clenched fists and his chest heaving as Kent, Brian, and Steve sent him hard glares and made their way down the walkway, not even bothering to head inside the school.

"What the fuck, Ian," Mickey said as he walked down the steps to stand in front of him.

Just the sound of Mickey's voice had Ian crashing back to reality, and he stared up into Mickey's pretty blue eyes, feeling the tension leaving his body. He then looked around and noticed a small crowd had formed to watch the altercation.

"I told you I didn't need you sticking up for me, asshole," Mickey said, though his tone wasn't hard.

"The guy's a dick," Ian said as he snatched his backpack up. "He had it coming. He had no right talking about you like that. He doesn't fucking know you."

"That guy is your best friend, Ian. Fuck."

"Not anymore," Ian said as he ran a hand over his head. "Come on," he said breathlessly after a tense pause. He nodded his head back over his shoulder. "Let's skip today."

"You wanna skip?" Mickey asked, his eyebrows raised in question.

Ian began walking backwards away from the school, his eyebrow quirked cockily. "Yeah, why? You scared of getting in trouble? Scared of being bad?"

"Fuck you, I ain't scared of shit," Mickey said before following after him.

  


* * *

  


"Why the fuck are we on the roof of an abandoned building right now?" Mickey asked as he put his backpack down and looked around.

"This is the obstacle course I made for myself for extra training," Ian explained as he put his own backpack down. He then reached behind his back and grabbed his t-shirt to pull it up and over his head, exposing his chest and taut stomach. "I come up here a lot to think or blow off steam."

"The fuck're you doing?" Mickey asked, his voice sounding a little rough around the edges.

"It's fucking ninety degrees out," Ian said with a smirk. "I'm cooling down. Why? Does seeing my broad chest and chiseled abs make you feel inadequate?" he teased.

"Ay, fuck you," Mickey said as he pulled his own shirt over his head.

Ian allowed himself to only glance at Mickey's body for a few seconds before looking away. Shit, maybe bringing Mickey here and getting half naked hadn't been such a good idea after all.

"So, answer my question," Mickey said as he sat down on a milk crate and opened one of the beers they had stopped and grabbed at the Kash and Grab. "Why're we here?"

"I'm going to do my workout, and you're going to sit there and get drunk," Ian said as he grabbed his unloaded shotgun and drew in a deep breath. On one hand, he really did need to do this for the working out part. On the other hand, he kinda wanted the opportunity to show off a little in front of Mickey.

He began running through the course, pushing himself to the absolute limit and being extra fucking cool, if only because Mickey was watching him. After a few laps around, he walked over to Mickey and bent over to grab his knees. His whole body heaved as he struggled to catch his breath.

"Fuckin' show off," Mickey mumbled as he handed Ian a beer.

Ian took the cool drink gladly and guzzled half of it. He was dripping with sweat and, if he didn't know any better, he could swear he felt Mickey's eyes on him the entire time. But no, he knew that couldn't be right. Mickey was straight. Mickey was most certainly _not_ checking him out.

Except that when Ian pulled the can away from his mouth and glanced down at him, Mickey most certainly _was_ looking at him; he was flat out staring at the beads of sweat rolling down his chest and down over his stomach.

He watched as Mickey quickly looked away and guzzled half of his own beer.

Ian smiled and sat down on the milk crate next to Mickey, deciding not to push the issue. If Mickey was checking him out, he was allowed. If Mickey was gay, Ian would wait for him to say it.

"So, you want to do a few laps?"

"Nah, man," Mickey said, avoiding his eyes.

"It's a good workout." Ian watched as Mickey looked around, his eyes squinting in the sun. It was another weird moment, where Mickey got quiet and looked far away; looked as if he wanted to say something important but held back.

"Nah, man. Maybe another day," Mickey said finally.

Ian nodded, deciding to leave it at that. He stood up, placing his beer on the ground, and then grabbed the unloaded gun. Deciding to show off a little bit more, he began twirling his gun like they had taught him in ROTC. He knew he looked pretty fucking bad ass right then.

"So, what made you decide to want to join the army, anyway?"

Ian was kind of taken back by Mickey's question. Even though the two of them had certainly grown closer over the past few weeks, it was usually Ian always asking the questions, always wanting to know more. The fact that Mickey was asking something about him made Ian a little giddy.

Ian shrugged. "I don't know," he answered as he kept twirling his gun. "Just something I've always been into, I guess. I've never really had structure or discipline at home, so I figure might as well get it from somewhere, right?" He watched as Mickey smiled gingerly and played with his beer tab. His eyes were squinting because of the sun, and his skin glistened with sweat. He was so fucking beautiful. "Plus, I get to shoot people, so that's always a plus."

Mickey laughed and finished off his beer with a burp, his eyes once again falling to Ian's bare sweaty chest.

"Come here," Ian said.

"Fuck are you on about?"

"Come here," Ian said more sternly this time, pointing to the spot in front of him. "I want to show you something."

Mickey looked at him apprehensively, his eyebrow arching. He finally placed his empty can down and stood up to walk over to Ian. They stood facing each other, only a foot or two separating them.

Ian stared down into Mickey's eyes, suddenly realizing just how different they were in height. Yet another thing he liked about Mickey. "Here," he said, his voice raspy as he held out his gun. "I'm going to teach you how to twirl a gun."

Mickey smirked as he took the proffered weapon. "Fuck I need to learn how to twirl a gun for?"

"You're always teaching me shit, making me feel stupid since you're so fucking smart. Let me teach you something for once," Ian said before grabbing Mickey's bare arm with one hand and the gun with the other, showing him just how to hold it.

"You're so fucking weird," Mickey mumbled, but allowed Ian to position him.

Ian smiled softly, taking full advantage of the close proximity to really study Mickey's face. He mentally took note of every freckle, spot, and scar. He silently wondered how he had gotten those scars, but knew that Mickey would probably never tell him.

"What now?" Mickey asked hoarsely. "You're making this weird. The fuck're you staring at me for?"

Ian had a habit of saying things without thinking them through first. "Because I like your face."

Mickey sucked in a breath and tensed up immediately. He then turned his head and looked up into Ian's eyes, their faces only a few inches apart.

Ian knew all it would take would be to lean down the three or four inches between them and press his lips to Mickey's, but he knew it would only earn him a punch to the face…or worse.

"Fuck," he swore before taking a huge step back. He turned his back to Mickey and ran a hand through his hair and over his face. "Fuck!" he yelled, his voice echoing between the stone walls surrounding them. "I'm so fucking stupid." He turned around and chanced a look at Mickey, who was staring down at the ground, his thumb rubbing over his lower lip. "Fuck, Mickey, I'm sorry. I didn't fucking…I shouldn't have fucking said—"

"I'm not gay," Mickey finally said, his voice uneven. "Alright? I'm not gay."

Ian's shoulders slumped, and his heart fell as Mickey's words sank in. Even though he had already suspected it, just hearing Mickey say the words was like a punch to the gut.

"So, whatever it is you think is happening here, you're wrong," Mickey finished, still not meeting Ian's eyes. "Got it?"

"I know," Ian said sullenly. "I know, okay. I'm sorry. Just…tell me this isn't going to ruin our friendship, Mickey. Fuck! Tell me I didn't just fuck things up."

Mickey finally looked at him, his expression unreadable. "You didn't fuck things up, alright? Just don't pull any more of that shit and we'll be good."

Ian nodded, trying not to let his disappointment show.

Mickey reached down and grabbed his shirt to pull it on. He then grabbed his backpack and began heading towards the exit. "I'll see you at school," he said, without bothering to look back.

Ian sat down on the milk crate and buried his head in his hands…feeling crushed, but knowing that he'd rather have Mickey as a friend than nothing at all, and wondering how the fuck he was going to go about doing that.

He didn't get to see the tears Mickey bitterly blinked away as he walked home.


	4. I Feel Like I'm Being Erased

The next day at school, Ian spotted Mickey at his locker, and he hesitantly sauntered up to him, hitching his backpack higher on his shoulder as he did so.

Mickey was wearing baggy jeans and a dark blue shirt that had been ripped into a tank top. It looked as if Mickey had just recently gotten out of the shower, his hair still damp, just begging to have fingers running through it.

Fuck, why did Mickey have to look so good today, this morning of all mornings? The morning after he had made a complete fucking fool out of himself by telling Mickey he liked his fucking face. Granted, it was a really nice face, but that didn't mean Ian had to go around saying that shit.

After finally gaining up enough courage, Ian moved to stand next to the other boy, watching as Mickey didn't even bother to acknowledge his presence; he just kept rummaging through his messy locker, stone-faced and stiff.

"Hey," Ian said after an awkward silence, hoping that would prompt Mickey into speaking. It didn't. Ian sighed and tried again. "Look, Mick, I'm sorry about yesterday, alright? I know I shouldn't say shit like that to you." Silence. Ian sighed again and shuffled his weight to his other foot. "Mick," he said, dropping his voice. "I know you're not gay, alright? And I shouldn't have said it, but…I'm a horny, hot-blooded gay kid…you can't really hold it against me."

"The fuck I can't," Mickey mumbled as he slammed his locker shut and finally turned to face him. His eyes only briefly flickered to Ian's face before he glanced away. "Just don't say that shit again, got it?"

Ian watched as Mickey roughly brushed past him, and then he rolled his eyes before following after him. He was starting to get a little tired of Mickey's snarky attitude. There really was no reason for it. He was turning it into a bigger deal than it needed to be.

"No, you know what…fuck it," Ian said without fully thinking it through first. They were heading up a flight of steps then, Mickey one step in front of him. "I'm not sorry. I'm not sorry because…I like your face, Mickey. There, I said it. You have a really great face. If you want to take offense to me complimenting you, then so be it. But I'm not taking it back."

Mickey had stopped his ascent up the steps, causing Ian to bump into him from behind. He then turned around to look at Ian, who was eye level with him since he was one step down. Their fellow students grumpily muttered and moved around them as they blocked the way.

Ian swallowed and watched as Mickey's eyes searched his face. "Shit doesn't have to be weird unless you let it be. Just because I like how you look doesn't mean I'm going to try to jump your bones or anything. If you want to continue being my friend, you'll have to get used to the weird shit that comes out of my mouth."

"I—" Mickey began and then looked away, his Adam's apple bobbing.

Ian watched him, his lips twitching into a small smile. Damn, he really fucking liked this kid. "I promise I'll keep my hands to myself, but you can't tell me not to look."

Mickey finally looked at him before he finally smiled, too, and shook his head. "You're the weirdest fucking person I've ever met."

"Pretty sure you've said that before," Ian said, his shoulders relaxing upon realizing that they were okay. They finally started up the steps again, this time walking side by side.

"Yeah, well, that's because it's fucking true!" Mickey exclaimed with a laugh. "Who says shit like that… _I like your face_. So fucking lame. You actually get guys using lines like that?"

"Fuck you!" Ian laughed back, bumping his shoulder playfully against Mickey's. "If you were gay that line would've had you dropping your pants in no time."

Mickey's laughter drifted off and, after a short pause, he said, "Yeah, well…good thing I'm not, then."

Ian side-eyed him as they reached the second floor, wondering why Mickey's voice suddenly sounded suspiciously thick. As they parted ways to head towards their respective classes, he looked back over his shoulder to watch Mickey head in the opposite direction. His eyes dropped to Mickey's ass and he thought—not for the first time—that Mickey being straight was such a fucking tragedy.

  


* * *

  


Ian walked into the cafeteria a few hours later, his tray clutched in his hands.

Normally, he'd be over the fucking moon about cheeseburger day, but the food on his tray was the last thing on his mind. For the past three hours, he found himself anxiously awaiting lunchtime, if only because of the off chance he'd got to see Mickey for a half an hour.

They had only recently started eating lunch together a few times a week, and he was hoping today would be one of those days. A lot of the time, Mickey would eat lunch with his sister and Ian knew enough to stay away when that happened. He knew Mickey didn't want Ian to know anything about his family or home life. But every once in a while, he would walk into the bustling cafeteria to find Mickey sitting alone and he knew it was safe for him to sit.

That day, he didn't see Mickey upon initial inspection. He did, however, spot Mandy sitting by herself at the usual table by the windows.

He watched her for a few seconds, and then curiosity got the best of him. Not wanting to fully overstep the line Mickey had drawn, Ian sat down at the table right next to the one Mandy was sitting at. As he began digging into his meal, he snuck furtive glances in her direction, wondering what she was like, and why Mickey wanted to keep her a secret.

"Why the fuck are you creeping on me, dude?"

Ian's eyes shot up when he realized she was speaking to him. Fuck. Why was he such a fucking weirdo? He really needed to work on that. "Uh, I'm not creeping on you," he said. "Just, uh, I'm a friend of Mickey's. Was wondering if he was coming to lunch today?"

Mandy forked through her coleslaw as she eyed him warily. "A friend of Mickey's? Mickey doesn't have friends."

Ian tried to ignore the surge of disappointment at realizing that Mickey hadn't mentioned him to his own sister. "Uh, well, he tutors me, actually."

"Oh, yeah," Mandy singsonged. "You're the tutoring charity case he's been meeting with after school every day."

Ian frowned, wondering if that was how Mickey saw him, or if it was just Mandy's own perception of things. "Uh, yeah…I guess."

Just then, Mickey walked up, stopping directly in front of Ian as if to block his sister. "What the fuck're you doing?"

Ian lifted his eyes to regard Mickey, seeing that he was anything but happy. He shrugged, trying to show Mickey that it was no big deal. "I was just talking to your sister."

"You were just talking to—" Mickey stopped to laugh dryly as he looked away and rubbed at his lower lip. "Get out here, I wanna talk to you," he said, nodding his head in the direction of the exit.

"But I just—"

"Now, Gallagher. I don't want to cause a fucking scene…unless you want me to cause a scene," Mickey snapped, glaring at him. He then turned and headed towards the exit.

Ian glanced over at Mandy, who was watching him with an unreadable expression. He pushed away from the table with a scrape of his chair, and then stood up to follow after Mickey. Mickey was out in the deserted hallway outside of the cafeteria, pacing back and forth, his thumb working overtime over his bottom lip. "What the fuck, Mickey? I was just asking her if—"

Mickey struck quickly, pressing his hand to Ian's chest and pushing him back against the wall, knocking the wind out of him. He moved his face just inches from Ian's, his face reddening. "I told you to stay away from my sister."

"Fuck, what's the big deal?" Ian snapped back. He tore Mickey's hand away from him and pushed him, causing Mickey to nearly stumble backwards. "We were just talking, Jesus!"

"I told you I don't want you talking to her. I don't want you anywhere near my personal life, got it?" Mickey bellowed. "What goes on with me, outside of what I decide to fucking tell you and outside of these walls, has fuck all to do with you!"

"What the fuck are you hiding, Mickey?" Ian exclaimed, stepping a little closer into Mickey's personal space. "What could possibly be so bad that you don't want to tell me? You think I'll judge you? I'm the last person who would ever judge you, Mickey. You have to fucking know that by now!"

"Just stay the fuck out of my life," Mickey snapped before turning to walk away.

"I want to know you, Mickey," Ian called out before he could stop himself. He watched as Mickey froze but kept his back to him. His heart was pumping in his chest and his face felt hot. He knew he should shut the fuck up right now, but he kept going. "I want to know everything about you, even the bad stuff. What…are you a pimp? A drug dealer? Working for the mob? I don't care, Mickey."

Mickey finally turned around to look at Ian, an unreadable expression on his face. His eyes were red-rimmed, and his tongue was slowly rubbing over his lower lip. His eyebrows arched, and then he said, "This has gone too fucking far. We're done here, Gallagher. I helped you get your grades up. That's all this was. We're done. Stay the fuck out of my business and my life, got it?"

Ian stood stunned as Mickey headed down the hallway, and then roughly pushed his way out of the metal doors and outside. He slumped back against the wall and let out a shaky exhale, trying to process everything that had just happened.

  


* * *

  


"Fuck's up with you?" Lip asked Ian later that night as they sat smoking in the van in the backyard, a plume of smoke billowing out from his nose as he passed the joint back to Ian.

"Nothing," Ian mumbled as he took a hit and allowed the smoke to fill his lungs. He held it for as long as he could before exhaling with a rough cough. "Fuck, this is some bad shit."

Lip laughed and accepted the proffered joint and took his own deep hit. "You seem like you're down about something," he said on his exhale. "I'm your big brother, man. You know you can talk to me."

Ian leaned back in his seat and propped his right leg up on the dashboard, finally beginning to feel the effects of the high. After the day he had, he needed to get fucking high. "It's shit you don't want to hear about."

"Try me," Lip said as he held his smoke in.

"Guy trouble."

"Like…actual relationship trouble, or I'm trying to get my dick in some ass trouble? 'Cause I don't think I really wanna talk about the latter."

Ian smirked over at him as he grabbed the almost-spent joint and finished it off. "Neither, really. It's this guy I like, but we're just friends."

"So, you want it to be a dick-in-ass situation, but don't know how to go about doing that?"

Ian frowned a little as he rested his head back. "Not really. It's not like I just want to fuck him or anything…although I'd be lying if I said I haven't thought about it. It's not just about that, though." His voice trailed off, his own words surprising even himself. He knew he liked Mickey, he just never realized it went beyond just wanting to fuck him.

"Fuck, man," Lip quipped. "You want a relationship with this guy?"

Ian ran a hand down his face and sighed. "Fuck, I don't know. I like him. I can't stop fucking thinking about the guy. Only problem is…he's fucking straight…and he currently hates my guts."

"Why do you think he hates you?"

"Well, him telling me to stay the fuck out of his life is a pretty big indicator."

"Fuck, man…sounds like you're going to have to work extra hard for that ass."

Ian choked on his laughter and wasn't in the right mindset to come up with a witty reply.

"At least tell me this guy is your own age," Lip said with a little too much laughter, his high obviously setting in. "Anything has to be better than when you were fucking your boss at the Kash and Grab."

"That was two fucking times over a year ago…let it go, asshole," Ian said with his own exaggerated laughter.

"There's a party tonight," Lip said as he popped open a can of beer. He guzzled half of it before handing it to Ian. "Lenny Kinmore's parents are out of town. Let's go. Maybe it'll take your mind off that shit. Maybe find some random to fuck and get your head back on straight…no pun intended."

Ian quirked an eyebrow. "Why the fuck would a big, cool college guy like you want to go to a lame ass high school party?"

"High school chicks, why else?"

"What about Amanda?"

"What about her?" Lip asked with a shrug.

"And I come to you for relationship advice, why?"

  


* * *

  


Ian and Lip walked into the party that was already in full swing. They pushed their way through the crowded living room and into the packed kitchen and stood in line for the keg.

Ian looked around, spotting a few recognizable faces, but no one he outright knew. He had decided to take Lip's advice. Maybe he would just find some random guy to hook up with for the night. Maybe it was just better to move on now before things got worse. Mickey obviously didn't see him the way Ian wanted him to. Why dwell on something that was never going to happen?

After nearly ten minutes, they finally got to the keg, and they each filled up two red cups. They made their way outside to the deck and out to the backyard, which was also filled with people milling around, laughing and drinking.

"Who knew Lenny Kinmore was so fucking popular," Lip said with a chortle against the rim of his cup.

"I think the free beer has something to do with it," Ian said as he took a sip from his own cup and then immediately grimaced. "Tastes like warm piss."

"Still free, though," Lip pointed out.

Ian scanned the backyard, looking for a guy who fit his personal taste…preferably someone shorter than him, with dark hair (blonds did nothing for him), and someone who looked like they could take a good dick. Also, someone who preferably didn't go to school with him. Ian wasn't closeted by any means; it was just easier if he didn't know the guy. Sometimes randoms could get clingy as fuck, and Ian didn't have time for that.

Ian's eyes fell on the one person he never expected to see at a party. "Fuck," he muttered as he watched Mickey from across the yard as he spoke to Mandy and some girl he didn't recognize. He downed his first cup of beer, burped obnoxiously, and then started on his second.

"Who the fuck are you stressing over?"

"He's here. The guy I'm trying to forget about, he's here," Ian grumbled, his eyes still glued on Mickey, who was now laughing at something the mystery girl was saying. He was jealous; plain and fucking simple. He wondered who the girl was; the girl that was making Mickey laugh. Was she Mickey's girlfriend? He suddenly felt sick to his stomach and turned away.

"Shit, man…you really fucking like this guy, don't you?" Lip asked, still trying to figure out which guy had his little brother so bent out of shape. "Which one is he?"

"Doesn't fucking matter," Ian mumbled before drinking another gulp of beer. He snuck another look in Mickey's direction. It hurt more than he cared to admit, seeing Mickey flirting with a girl. Suddenly, it made the fact that Mickey was straight so painfully real. Up until that point, he had been hoping it was a blatant lie, that Mickey was only saying he was straight to cover something up.

"Scott Miller is here, I'm gonna go say hi," Lip said. "Fucker still owes me money from two years ago."

Ian barely registered his brother's words. He watched as the mystery girl reached up and gripped Mickey's forearm, and that's when Ian had had enough. He downed the rest of his second beer, chucked his cup to the side, and then headed over to Mickey, knowing he was a glutton for punishment, but he had to see the shit up close. He had to see if it was real. Maybe if he got slapped in the face with the fact that Mickey was straight, he'd finally be able to move on and get the fuck over him.

Mickey was laughing when Ian walked up to him, but the laughter quickly died when their eyes locked. Mickey looked down and shuffled uncomfortably under Ian's scrutiny.

"Hey," Ian said stiffly.

"Who's this?" the blonde bimbo asked. Ian _really_ fucking hated blondes.

"Uh," Mickey began as he rubbed at the back of his neck. "This is Ian. I tutor him after school sometimes."

Ian shook his head curtly and let out a dry, unamused chuckle.

"You're cute," the girl said with a too-white smile.

"Yeah, you too," Ian said with feigned sweetness, his eyes never leaving Mickey's face. Mickey finally lifted his eyes and met Ian's. "Now I see what his type is…blonde, big-boobed, tan. You got yourself quite the looker there, Mick."

"What? I'm not—" the girl began, but Mickey cut her off.

"She's great in bed, too…feisty," Mickey said as he brought his cup to his mouth and took a drink, his eyes fixed on Ian's, his eyebrow arched.

Ian nodded his head stiffly, swallowing the bitter lump in his throat. He didn't know why he was being that way. Mickey had made it perfectly clear that he was straight, so Ian had no reason to act like that. He was allowing his bitter jealousy and hurt get the best of him. "Good for you," he said stiffly.

"Mickey, what the hell's going on?" Mandy finally asked.

Mickey finally sighed and glanced away from Ian to regard his sister. "Give us a minute. I need to talk to him."

Mandy looked back and forth between Ian and Mickey warily before looping her arm through the blonde's and dragging her back towards the house.

"What're you doing here, Mick?" Ian snipped, breaking the awkward silence first. "I thought you were strictly anti-social. Thought you didn't do friends. Didn't take you for the partying type."

"I don't have to explain to you why I'm here," Mickey retorted. "My sister asked me to come, so I came. What the fuck right do you have coming over here? I thought I told you to stay the fuck away from me and my sister?"

Ian sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and nodded. The last thing in the fucking world he wanted to do right then was show any emotion, yet he felt the tears prickling the corners of his eyes, anyway. He blinked rapidly to keep them at bay.

"Well, you don't have to fucking worry about that anymore. I'll stay away from you from now on." He turned to walk away. "Have fun with your girl tonight," he called back over his shoulder.

  


* * *

  


Mickey walked into the crowded house in search of his sister. Just as he felt his irritation seething, he spotted her in a corner, her tongue shoved down some random dude's throat. He sighed and made his way over to her. "Mands, let's go."

Mandy kept right on kissing her mystery beau, only giving Mickey the finger over her shoulder in response.

"Now, bitch face, I'm ready to fucking go." He was getting a fucking headache from the shitty ass music, and the beer was cheap and flat, barely giving him any type of buzz. And, after his blowout with Ian, he wanted nothing more than to go home and disappear under his blankets for the rest of the night.

"Go? We haven't even been here a fucking hour yet!" Mandy snapped when she finally pulled away from the eager guy.

Mickey opened his mouth to speak just as the guy was leaning in to suck at Mandy's neck. "Get the fuck outta here!" he yelled. "Scram, asshat! Go find some other chick to suck your shrimp dick!"

The guy gave Mickey a baleful look before reluctantly pushing away from the wall that Mandy had him pinned against and walking away.

"Fuck, Mickey! Things were just starting to get good! Why the fuck couldn't you just leave without me? Why do you always have to be such a goddamn vag block!"

"Because like fuck I was going to leave you alone at some party with some douchebag you don't know."

Mandy sighed and ran a hand through her messy hair before nodding. "Fine, whatever." She then looked him over, her face softening. "You feeling okay? You look pale. Did you take your—"

"I'm fine," Mickey said flatly, hating when she got overprotective, like he was some fragile fucking little kid who couldn't take care of himself. "I just want to go. Can we go, please?"

"Are you in a bad mood because of that ginger fuckwad earlier?"

"No," Mickey said simply, even though it was a lie.

For the past few weeks, most of his problems centered around that fucking ginger fuckwad...the biggest fucking problem being that he couldn't get the damn guy out of his head, which was about the worst thing in the world as far as Mickey was concerned.

"Why did he think you were with Rene? And why did you let him think you were with her?" Mandy pushed. "Does he not know she's my friend, someone you just met tonight? And does he even know you're gay?"

"It doesn't fucking matter what he knows and doesn't know. Now can we fucking go, please?" Mickey asked as he reached up to rub at his temples.

"He likes you, doesn't he."

Mickey went stiff, and then he lifted his eyes to hers.

"He likes you…and you like him," Mandy finished. When she saw the look on her brother's face, she knew she was right. "Fuck, Mickey. That's a really terrible fucking idea."

"You don't think I fucking know that?" Mickey snapped. "You think I asked for this?"

"It can only end badly," Mandy warned. "You know you can't—"

"I know!" Mickey interrupted. "Trust me, I fucking know…which is why I'm pushing him away, alright? He thinks I'm straight, and he's going to fucking keep thinking that. I got this, alright? Don't fucking worry about it."

Mandy sighed and reached out to touch his forearm. "Mickey, I—"

Mickey shook her hand off of his arm. "Don't, alright? I don't need your fucking pity. Let's just go." He turned to start heading for the door to leave, but froze when he saw Ian standing across the living room, deep in conversation with some guy with a powder blue polo shirt and a fucking pompadour.

He swallowed thickly and watched as Ian laughed at something the guy said before leaning in to whisper in the guy's ear, their bodies a little too close for Mickey's liking. He tore his eyes away and ran a shaky hand over his mouth. He closed his eyes and fought back his emotions.

"Mickey—" Mandy tried again, but was bluntly interrupted.

"Let's go…now, or I'm leaving your ass here and you can find your own ride home," Mickey snapped, heading straight for the door, being careful not to glance in Ian's direction again, afraid of what he'd see next.

In the end, he knew it was for the best. The further away Ian Gallagher drifted away from him, the better.

  


* * *

  


Ian's head thumped back hard against the wall as he came, but the pain didn't register. The guy on his knees in front of him swallowed everything Ian had to offer him before standing up. He leaned in to kiss Ian, but Ian turned his face before their lips touched, causing the guy to awkwardly kiss his cheek instead.

"Sorry," Ian mumbled. "I don't do kissing."

"My bad," the guy said as he ran his fingers through his tousled hair. "So, we good here?"

"Yeah, we're good," Ian said, and watched as the guy reclaimed his beer from the bedside table, and then left the bedroom to return to the party.

Ian slowly sat down on the stranger's bed and ran his hands over his face. He felt dirty for what he had just done. Even though he had gotten off, it had taken a lot longer than usual, and he couldn't help but feel as if he had been doing something wrong the entire time.

He leaned over and grabbed his phone from his back pocket. He scrolled through his contacts until he came to Mickey's name. He vaguely wondered if Mickey was still downstairs, or if he had gone home for the night to fuck his girlfriend.

That thought alone (aided by the five beers he had guzzled) sent him over that edge he had been teetering on all night. Before he could stop it this time, tears were rolling down his cheeks.

As he cried, he pressed the call button and listened to the ringing on the other end. After five rings, the voice mail picked up.

_'Ay, this is Mickey. Say something or don't. I don't really give a shit.'_

Ian laughed through his tears, and then cleared his throat.

"Hey, um, it's me…Ian," he said after a brief pause. "I just wanted to call and say I'm sorry for being a dick earlier. I don't know why I acted like that…well, actually…I do know why." He paused again and ran a hand over his wet cheeks. He was putting it all out there, figuring he had nothing else to lose.

"I like you, Mickey. I really, really fucking like you. I've never liked anyone like this before. You're all I fucking think about really. It's kinda sad how much I think about you. And when I saw you with that girl earlier…something inside of me snapped. I hated it…but I have no right to be mad at you. You didn't do anything wrong. It's not your fault. I'm just sorry I ruined our friendship. I'm sorry, Mick." He pulled the phone away from his ear and hit the end button.

He stood up and slid his phone back into his pocket. He left the room to go find his brother so they could go the fuck home.

  


* * *

  


By the time they left the party and got off the L, it was already nearing one o'clock in the morning. Ian couldn't wait to take a hot shower and curl up in bed. He didn't have school the next day, so he planned on spending the whole day creating his own blanket fort and shutting out the rest of the world.

Ian and Lip walked in companionable silence the entire way home. Lip knew, just by Ian's sour mood, not to ask any questions.

When they finally reached their street, Lip looked up first and stopped in his tracks. "Who the fuck is sitting on our steps at one in the morning?"

Ian looked up from his shoes and—upon realizing exactly who it was that was perched casually on their steps—his heart sped up in his chest. "It's him."

"Him?"

"My guy," Ian answered, his eyes locked on Mickey.

"Fuck, man," Lip said before leaning in towards him. "Maybe he does want the dee after all."

"Get the fuck out of here, Lip!" Ian exclaimed, pushing his brother away even though his eyes stayed on Mickey.

Lip laughed gleefully and tramped up the steps, nodding at Mickey in greeting as he passed him before disappearing into the house.

Ian and Mickey stood awkwardly facing each other; Mickey on the top step and Ian at the bottom.

"Hey," Mickey said, speaking first.

"What're you doing here?" Ian asked, still slightly in shock to find Mickey waiting for him at his house.

"I got your message."


	5. Dare You To Move

Ian's head was swimming, and his heart was pumping wildly in his chest. He wasn't entirely sure if it was because of the five beers he had consumed at the party, or the fact that Mickey was standing on his porch, looking down at him with intense eyes, his tongue working on his bottom lip as usual. 

Mickey began descending down the steps until he was standing on the last step, eye level with Ian and only a few inches away. "I got your message," he said again, his eyes searching Ian's face. 

"Okay," Ian said, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth. He knew he should probably say more, but the words weren't coming.

Mickey finally broke the eye contact and looked down at his hands, which caused Ian to look down as well. For the first time, Ian noticed that Mickey had his sketchbook with him. "I, uh, wanted to give you this. You can look at it when I leave or whatever. I don't care." 

Ian reached out and took the proffered sketchbook, hoping that Mickey didn't realize how badly he was shaking. He was already acting like a fucking weirdo by not saying anything; the last thing he needed was for Mickey to see him shaking like a goddamn leaf. 

"I'll see you at school on Monday." Mickey rasped. He began moving and brushed past Ian to leave.

Ian spun around and watched him leave. He wanted to call out to him—wanted to ask what any of this meant—but he didn't...the words still wouldn't come out. 

Once Mickey was a couple blocks away, Ian looked down at the leather-bound sketchbook in his hands, and he slowly sat down on the bottom step. 

He ran his hand gingerly over the cover, and then he opened the sketchbook to the first page. The first drawing was a sketch of a skull with a knife piercing the eye socket. Even though it was pretty morbid, it was fucking awesome. Ian turned a few more pages and saw more skulls and a few realistic drawings of guns and other criminal paraphernalia. 

Ian smiled softly as he flipped through the pages, in awe of Mickey's obvious talent. Even though the subject matter of the drawings was pretty grim and morbid, Ian loved them. 

He turned the page again and froze. All of the previous drawings had been dark and drab; drawn in various shades of black and gray. This drawing was vivid with color. 

It was a drawing of him.

It was a sketch of him from that first day in the library. His hoodie was pulled down over his forehead, and he was slouched in his chair with his iPod in hand. His heart thumped as he turned the page again. It was another sketch of him, just his face this time. He lips were curled in a smirk, and the color of his hair and eyes were vivid and striking. It was in perfect detail; even the freckles were realistic.

He swallowed thickly as he turned a few more pages, his hands shaking slightly as he took in every last detail, trying to figure out what it all meant. 

The morbid and grim pictures were gone; all replaced with bright, colorful, lively sketches of him.

  


* * *

  


On Monday, Ian waited for Mickey at his locker. 

All weekend long he had worried and fretted over what he was going to say to the other boy once he saw him. His weekend fucking sucked; he wasn't able to think about anything else. He couldn't remember a time when he had ever been this nervous about something. 

As soon as he spotted Mickey finally making his way through the congested hallway and towards him, Ian smiled, suddenly not feeling so nervous anymore. Just the sight of Mickey in his dark green tank top and sleepy blue eyes put him at ease.

Mickey looked up and then halted slightly when he noticed Ian waiting for him. He then dropped his head and continued forward. "Hey," he mumbled once he reached him.

Ian watched as Mickey dialed his combination with shaky fingers, noticing that he had messed up the numbers a couple of times. He was pleased to know that maybe Mickey was just as nervous as he was. 

"I saw your drawings," Ian said, resisting the ridiculously strong urge to reach out and touch his face. Mickey had a light stubble growing and it was fucking hot. "Thanks for showing them to me. You're really fucking talented, Mick." 

"Thanks," Mickey grumbled as he rummaged through his messy locker, seemingly disinterested in the conversation. 

"Mick," Ian said after a drawn-out pause, his voice low and uneven as he leaned in a little closer, wanting his words to only be for Mickey. "Can you at least look at me?" When Mickey didn't comply, Ian sighed and continued. "Is there a reason why you've been drawing me? A reason why you wanted me to know you've been drawing me?" 

"You've been bugging the shit out of me for weeks to see my drawings, figured I'd finally let you see them to get you off my back," Mickey retorted. 

Ian reached up and grabbed Mickey's forearm, stopping his rummaging and finally forcing Mickey to look at him. 

"The fuck are you doing, Gallagher?" 

"You feel it, too," Ian began, his eyes searching Mickey's. "Don't you?" 

Mickey tore his arm from Ian's grasp and slammed his locker shut before turning and walking away. "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about," he snipped. 

Ian ran a hand through his hair and let out a dry chortle before turning and hurrying after him, weaving his way through the throng of students to keep up with Mickey's quick strides. 

"Fuck that, Mickey," Ian exclaimed. "You showed up at _my_ house the other night at one in the morning. You gave me a sketchbook filled with drawings you did of _me_ …fucking amazing, detailed drawings that made me look like a fucking Adonis. Don't tell me that doesn't fucking mean anything!"

Mickey spun around suddenly, startling Ian in the process. "You wanna keep your fucking voice down?" he spat as his eyes darted around the crowded hallway. 

"Just tell me you feel it, too. That's all I'm asking." Before Ian could grasp what was happening, Mickey grabbed him hard under the arm and dragged him into the nearest empty classroom, closing the door behind them before spinning around to face him.

"Don't fucking say shit like that around people, asshole," Mickey bellowed. "Are you out of your goddamn mind!"

"Well, if you would just talk to me like a normal fucking person, instead of—"

"Look, just stop, alright? Just stop," Mickey snapped. "I never should have showed up at your house. I never should have given you my fucking sketchbook. I've been kicking myself in the ass for it ever since."

"So, why did you, then?" Ian inquired, taking a step closer. "There had to be a reason, Mickey. You hear my message, me telling you how I feel about you, and then you show up at my house with a fucking sketchbook filled with drawings of my face. What the fuck am I supposed to—"

"Yes, alright! Jesus!" Mickey suddenly exclaimed, his voice loud in the empty classroom. "I fucking…I like you, too, alright? But it doesn't fucking matter. It can't fucking matter!"

Ian stared back at him, completely dumbfounded by Mickey's admission. He opened his mouth a couple of times to respond, but nothing came out.

"It doesn't matter, so just fucking drop it, alright?" Mickey said with finality before turning to leave the classroom. 

"No," Ian said, finally finding his voice. He reached out and grabbed Mickey's arm, pulling him back. "No."

Mickey turned around and, suddenly, they were inches apart, both staring into each other's eyes, their chests rising and falling rapidly with their unsteady breaths. 

"It does matter, Mickey," Ian said, his eyes dropping to Mickey's lips. "It matters to me. You matter to me. You're all I fucking think about." He loosened his grip on Mickey's arm but didn't remove his hand. He stepped a little closer. "Fuck, Mick…I've never felt this way about anyone before, so don't tell me it doesn't fucking matter."

"Ian," Mickey warned, though he didn't try to pull his arm away from Ian's grasp. "Just fucking trust me, alright? Nothing can happen here. It doesn't matter how much we like each other, it ain't gonna happen." 

"Is it because you're closeted?" Ian asked, his eyes searching Mickey's face. "I don't care, Mickey. That doesn't matter to me. We can work around that. I just wanna be with you."

Mickey finally pulled his arm out of Ian's hold and took a step back. "No, it's not because I'm fucking closeted," he snipped. He ran a shaky hand over his mouth as he regarded Ian glumly. "There's shit you don't know about, alright? Shit you don't understand. You and me…it ain't gonna happen. It's just not. The sooner you accept that, the better."

"So why even fucking tell me you have feelings for me, huh? Why show me your drawings? Why not just tell me to fuck off?" Ian asked, his voice uneven and his heart crumbling. He then tilted his chin up. "This _is_ you telling me to fuck off, isn't it?" 

"I'm sorry, man," Mickey said, closing his eyes and rubbing at the back of his neck. "I don't know what else to tell you."

Ian nodded stiffly, and then finally moved to leave. "Don't worry, I fucking got it."

Ian brushed past him, slapping the sketchbook hard against Mickey's chest as he did so. He left a crestfallen Mickey standing alone in the empty classroom.

  


* * *

  


Ian walked into the cafeteria later that day and, against his better judgment, he scanned the crowd looking for Mickey. He spotted Mickey sitting at his usual table with his sister. He glanced away and swallowed the lump in his throat.

He looked around in search of an empty table, and his eyes fell on one table in particular. Sitting at that table was Max Turner, a fellow kid from ROTC. Max was a nice kid, cute and funny. He and Ian had spent a couple of times under the bleachers getting to know each other a little better. Outside of fucking a couple of times, Ian didn't really know much about the guy. Maybe he should change that. After all, he had to move on somehow.

Even though he knew he should move on, knew he should try to forget about Mickey, he still found himself hesitating. He snuck another glance in Mickey's direction. Before Ian could even make a decision, a voice was calling out to him.

"Hey, man, you can sit here if you want." 

Ian glanced at Max and forced a small smile before making his way over to him and sitting down. "Hey, man." 

Max smiled and gave him a look; a look that was anything but friendly. 

  


* * *

  


"Fuck's up with you?"

Mickey looked up from mindlessly forking through his mashed potatoes. "Nothing's up with me. The fuck's up with you?"

"You've barely said one fucking word since you sat down. You feeling okay today? Maybe you should go see the school nurse."

"I just got shit on my mind, alright? It's nothing you need to worry about."

Mandy lowered her own fork and sighed. "Is it about that fucking ginger kid? You're still stressing over that? Mick, you know you shouldn't let yourself stress out over—" 

"I'm not talking about this with you," Mickey interrupted bluntly. Luckily, his sister took the hint and went back to scrolling through her phone. 

He sighed and chanced a look over his shoulder for about the tenth time since sitting down. He almost immediately spotted Ian in the crowd just from his hair alone. Ian was sitting at a table across the room, but he wasn't sitting alone.

Mickey vaguely recognized the kid sitting with Ian from one of his classes; some ROTC fuck face. He didn't know why seeing Ian sitting with someone else was so unnerving. He knew Ian had other friends, he was a pretty popular guy. Still, as he watched their interaction, he couldn't help but notice the way the guy was laughing and looking at Ian. It certainly didn't look like he considered Ian just a friend.

When he saw Ian laugh back, he stiffly turned back around in his seat and lifted his eyes to find his sister watching him disapprovingly. "I don't wanna fuckin' hear it," he said as he pushed his chair back and stood up. Before he could think about what he was doing all the way through, he stalked over to where Ian was sitting. 

"Hey."

Ian looked up from his food, his smile dropping from his face when he saw who had interrupted them. 

As Mickey stared down at him, he suddenly realized how irrational he was being. He had no right to be jealous. He was the one who had ended things with Ian before they had even fucking started. He was the one who told Ian to move on and get over it.

"What do you want?" Ian asked after a drawn-out pause. 

_You._ "I…forget it. Doesn't fucking matter," Mickey mumbled before turning and heading out of the cafeteria, silently telling himself he was a fucking idiot the entire way.

  


* * *

  


Ian watched after Mickey with a frown, unable to process what the fuck had just happened. Unable to process why Mickey had decided to interrupt the conversation he and Max had been having, or why it kind of looked like Mickey was…jealous?

"So, what did you think about those drills they had us running the other day? Fucking brutal, man," Max said, bringing Ian back to reality. 

"Uh," Ian said as he pushed his chair back to stand up. "Yeah, brutal. Look, I have to go, man. I'll catch up with you later, alright?" Before Max could even answer, Ian made his way out of the cafeteria and out into the empty hallway. He looked up and down the corridor to find that Mickey was nowhere in sight. His shoulders slumped and he ran a hand down his face. 

"Why'd you leave your boyfriend? Looked like you were having fun."

Ian spun around to find Mickey sitting in the middle of the steps in the stairwell next to the cafeteria doors. "He's not my boyfriend," he said adamantly.

"But you are fucking him, right?" Mickey asked bluntly. 

"I fucked him a few times a couple months ago," Ian said flatly with a shrug of his shoulders. "Haven't recently, though."

Mickey scoffed and scrunched up his face in disgust.

Ian laughed dryly. "Are you kidding me right now? You don't get to do this, Mickey. You don't get to tell me to fuck off—that we're nothing to each other—and then ask me if I'm fucking someone else." 

"Fuck you." Mickey stood up and made his way down the steps. Without saying anything more, he moved to walk past Ian, but was stopped when Ian suddenly grabbed his arm and pulled him into the hidden alcove under the stairs. 

"What the fuck, Gallagher!"

Ian pushed Mickey back against the wall, and then braced his hands against the wall on either side of Mickey's head, caging him in. He waited for Mickey to push him away—to tell him to fuck off—but he didn't. 

Mickey only stared up at him, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously. 

"Mickey," Ian whispered as he leaned in and pressed his forehead against Mickey's. He then bravely nosed at Mickey's stubbly jawline, feeling satisfied when he heard Mickey's breath hitch. He then pressed his forehead to Mickey's shoulder, breathing him in.

"What do you want from me, Ian?" Mickey asked, his voice raw and throaty next to Ian's ear. "What are you hoping for here? You want to fuck me, huh? Get me out of your system? Fuck me once, and then we can move the fuck on?" 

Ian pulled back enough to look into his eyes. "I don't want to just fuck you, Mickey. I've done the whole hit it and quit it shit before. I don't want that with you."

"So, what do you fucking want, then?"

"I wanna be with you," Ian said matter-of-factly. "I want to take you out, and I want to kiss you whenever the fuck I want to, and I want to—"

"Ian, stop." 

"No, Mickey," Ian said, taking a step back. "I'm not stopping. It's how I feel. I want to be with you, and I kinda think you might want to be with me, too."

Mickey ran a hand down his face and looked away. "It's not that simple, man. I wish it was that fucking simple, but it can't happen." 

"So, that's it, then?" Ian said stiffly. "We don't even get a fucking chance? You're shutting shit down before we even try? How's that fair?" 

"Life's not fucking fair." 

"That's bullshit."

Mickey stared back at Ian with such intensity that Ian forgot how to breathe for a minute. "You're not going to let this fucking go, are you?" he asked, but his voice was soft as he searched Ian's eyes. 

Ian smiled gently and leaned back in so that their foreheads were touching again. "What can I say? When I see something I want, I don't stop until I get it." The smile then slipped off of his face and his heart skipped a beat when he felt Mickey's hands settle on his waist, pulling him in so that their bodies were flush against each other. 

"You're a persistent fucker, aren't you?" Mickey grumbled, his voice unsteady. 

"Mmhm," Ian hummed. He removed his hands from the wall and cupped them around Mickey's face, his thumbs smoothing over his cheeks. 

Ian was tired of talking. He wanted nothing more than to lean in the last couple of inches and kiss Mickey breathless, but he didn't want to rush it. He wanted Mickey, but he wanted to take his time with him. He knew Mickey was closeted and scared, and he didn't want to push any more than he already had.

It took everything in Ian to pull away, but he did. He instantly missed the feel of Mickey's hands on his waist, and his heart sank at the look on Mickey's face. "Hey," Ian said, instantly wanting to reassure him, to let him know that he wasn't being rejected. "You have no idea how fucking bad I want to kiss you right now, but I don't want to rush this, okay? Not with you."

Sure enough, Mickey avoided his eyes and brought his hand to his mouth to thumb at his bottom lip.

Ian grinned at the nervous habit and pulled Mickey's hand away from his mouth. "Hey, there's nothing to be nervous about, Mick. We'll take things slow, okay?"

Mickey looked at him warily. "What exactly do you mean by slow?"

Ian shrugged casually. "I wanna take you out on a date."

Mickey quirked an eyebrow. "A date?" On Ian's nod, he said, "I don't do dates."

"Well, now you do."

"The fuck I do," Mickey snipped, his eyebrows shooting up.

Ian tilted his head and smirked before continuing. "We'll drive somewhere out of town…where no one knows us. It'll just be you and me. We can see a movie, and I'll buy you dinner. I'll buy you fucking lobster, or we can just go to Sizzler's, whatever you wanna do. We'll just hang out, no pressure." 

Mickey licked at his bottom lip as he eyed Ian. Finally, he said, "I don't put out on the first date, just so you know." 

Ian grinned. "Well, we'll just have to make sure there's a second date, then."

Mickey grinned back, and then he reached out to grab at the hem of Ian's shirt. He tugged him closer, causing Ian to slightly stumble against him. "We'll see how the first date goes. It's going to take a lot to impress me, Gallagher." 

Ian leaned in a little closer and, just as he was about to touch his lips to Mickey's, he changed course and whispered in his ear, "I'm up for the challenge." When he pulled back, Mickey's eyes fell to his lips.

"Fucking better be," Mickey mumbled.

Just then, the bell rang and students began spilling out into the hallway and Ian took a reluctant step back. Even though they had been interrupted, he couldn't help the grin that was plastered on his face. "I'm free tomorrow night. Be ready at seven o'clock?"

"Better bring your wallet," Mickey said as Ian began walking backwards away from him. "I ain't turning down lobster. I'll probably even order dessert."

"Dessert, huh?" Ian smiled and nodded in affirmation before turning and disappearing into the crowd.

Neither one of them noticed Mandy standing a few yards away at the door of the cafeteria, a frown on her face.

  


* * *

  


When Mickey got home from school that day, he found Mandy sitting on the couch in complete silence. He frowned and glanced at the television that was turned off. "The fuck are you doing sitting in here with the TV off, being all creepy and shit?"

"What are you doing, Mickey?"

"The fuck's it look like I'm doing?" Mickey asked as he dropped his backpack to the floor and headed to the kitchen. "I just got home from school, now I'm going to grab a beer and make myself a fucking sandwich before I do my homework. Want the rest of my itinerary for the night, or are we good?"

Mandy stood up to follow him. "I saw you," she said, crossing her arms and watching as he rummaged through the fridge. When he didn't say anything, she continued. "I saw you with that kid under the stairs at school. I saw how close you two were, how you were looking at each other—"

"His name is Ian…and you didn't see shit," Mickey said as he took a swig of his beer. 

"The fuck I didn't. I know what I saw," Mandy retorted. In the next breath, she said, "Mickey, you need to be careful."

"I don't want to fucking talk about this right now," Mickey snipped as he headed towards his bedroom.

"Well, you fucking need to," Mandy said, following him. She was answered with a door slamming in her face. "You're only going to get hurt, Mickey. Both of you. You know that."

"Leave me the fuck alone!" Mickey exclaimed as he sat down on the edge of his unmade bed. He took another swig of his beer, trying to ignore the little voice inside his head telling him that she was right. He needed to shut this shit down before it went even further.

He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, and he leaned over to retrieve it. It was a text message from Ian:    _can't wait 4 our date. prepare to have ur mind blown!_      He had even tacked on a wink face, thumbs up, and lobster emoji.

Mickey found himself smiling in spite of himself. He didn't get to smile much these days.

Ian was changing that.

Mickey knew that it was probably a really bad idea, but he couldn't help it. He just wanted to be happy for once. He wanted to be happy with Ian. He'd worry about the consequences another day.


	6. Just Can't Get Enough

Ian walked into school the next day feeling like a new man. He couldn't wipe the grin off of his face even if he tried. He hadn't slept a wink the night before, tossing and turning thinking about Mickey and their date, but he felt wide awake.

He hefted his backpack higher on his shoulder as he made his way through the congested hallway towards Mickey's locker. Just as he thought nothing could ruin his good mood, he caught sight of Kent and Brian up ahead at Kent's locker, and his smile quickly faded. If looks could kill, Ian would have been a dead man on the spot.

"Boys," he said condescendingly as he made his way past them.

"Where's your boyfriend at, faggot?" Kent asked dryly. 

"Fuck you," Ian said as he continued on his way, trying not to let the other boy's words get to him. It was weird to think that just a few shorts days ago, that asshole had been his best friend. The fuck was he thinking? 

"Yeah, you better watch your back, Gallagher," Kent called out. "You and your scumbag boyfriend."

Ian kept walking, using all his willpower to not turn around and deck the kid. He definitely couldn't afford a suspension.

He stewed in his frustration for a few moments before finally catching sight of Mickey up ahead. The grin instantly returned to his face. 

Mickey's back was turned as he rummaged through his locker and Ian snuck up behind him. Not wanting to draw too much attention to them, Ian leaned in over Mickey's shoulder so that his mouth was only inches away from his ear. "Is that a keg in your pants?" he asked huskily. "'Cause I'd like to tap that ass."

"Did that really just come out of your mouth?" Mickey retorted. "Jesus."

Ian laughed goofily and pulled away.

Mickey glanced at Ian over his shoulder, his eyebrows arched. "Thought I told you I wasn't easy. That cheesy ass pick-up line isn't going to work on me." 

Ian smiled and dropped his eyes to Mickey's lips, aching to lean in and kiss him. He knew that he was treading on dangerous ground here—what with the hallway still being packed with students—so he stepped around Mickey and then leaned his shoulder against the neighboring locker. 

Mickey smirked at him before going back to dig through his messy locker.

Ian searched Mickey's face, trying to look for any sign that Mickey regretted anything about the day before. 

"What the fuck is with you and the creepy fucking staring?" Mickey finally snapped before turning his eyes to regard Ian in amusement. "If you want to ask me something, just ask."

Ian hooked his thumbs through the straps of his backpack and shrugged casually. He really wished Mickey staring directly at him like that didn't make his heart feel like it wanted to beat out of his chest. He really needed to learn how to play it cool.

"Just wondering if you regret anything that happened or anything that was said yesterday." 

Mickey's eyes narrowed in thought. Finally, after a drawn-out pause, he said, "Oh! You mean when you dragged me under the stairs and tried to molest me, and then forced me into agreeing to going out on a date with you?" he asked, scratching at his temple.

Ian smirked and tilted his head to the side. "Not exactly how I remember it going down, but yeah." 

Mickey grinned and then slowly licked his bottom lip as his eyes fell to Ian's mouth. "Nah," he finally said, his voice low and gravelly. "I don't regret it." 

Ian bravely leaned in a couple inches more but remained careful not to be too aggressive in the middle of the school hallway. "Good, so it's still a date, then?" 

Mickey's chest heaved with a sigh and his eyes darted away to glance around apprehensively. Ian could tell that Mickey was still a little uncomfortable with the whole idea of a date, and he suddenly felt bad for pushing the issue. In the next instant, Mickey was looking at him again, the corner of his lip curling up into a smirk. "Yeah, man…it's a date."

"Are you sure I'm not pushing anything? I don't want you to feel like you have—"

"Gallagher, chill…I said it's a date," Mickey reiterated. 

Ian grinned as they then turned and began walking down the hall together. He snuck a playful glance in Mickey's direction. "You know, the fact that I'm willing to buy you lobster—while knowing full well that you aren't willing to put out—should say a lot about how much I like you." 

Mickey grinned back and bumped his shoulder with Ian's. "I like you, too," he said, keeping his voice low. "Which is why I'm considering going back on my no putting out on the first date rule." 

Mickey's words had Ian swallowing hard. 

Mickey laughed at Ian's baffled expression. "You gotta impress me first, though, then maybe you can get the goods." 

"The goods, huh? Oh, trust me," Ian said, resisting the strong urge to put his arm around Mickey's shoulders. "I plan on working hard to get those goods." 

"What, uh, what about you? You just give your goods away for free?" Mickey asked with an arched eyebrow.

Ian shrugged as they stopped in front of Mickey's first period classroom. "Basically. What can I say? I'm easy."

In the back of his mind, he wondered why they were both using the term 'goods'. How old were they? He thought maybe some of Mickey's old man tendencies were starting to rub off on him. 

Mickey thumbed at his lower lip as his gaze slid up and down the length of Ian's body appreciatively. "Easy, huh? Does that, uh, does that mean you just let anyone get the goods?" 

Ian crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall, knowing jealousy when he saw it. Inside, he was giddy. On the outside, he smirked. "Is that your way of asking me if I'm going to fuck other guys? We haven't even gone on one date yet, and you're already trying to tie me down." 

"Ay, fuck you," Mickey said, clearly embarrassed as he turned to head into the classroom. 

Ian reached out and grabbed his arm. He had to remember that Mickey was new to the whole dating and flirting thing, so his usual jokes and sarcasm wouldn't fly. "Hey, I'm just messing with you," he said reassuringly. His eyes then swept over Mickey's face, suddenly turning serious. "I meant what I said. I want to be with you…only you. No one else will be getting anywhere near these goods." 

Mickey seemed to relax at that. "Good," he said after a brief pause. 

Just then, the final bell rang and Ian realized he was late for his own class, but he figured it was worth it. He gave Mickey a small, flirty smile as he began walking backwards. He then bumped into someone and almost lost his balance. After recovering and apologizing to the poor girl he had nearly plowed over, he looked back to find Mickey laughing at him.

"Real smooth, Gallagher."

  


* * *

  


 

Mickey tried to pay attention to whatever nonsensical bullshit story his sister was telling, but he kept finding himself glancing over his shoulder in search of Ian. 

"Are you even fucking listening to me, shithead?" Mandy asked sourly. Once she had his full attention, she sneered. "I just told you Brent Wilson grabbed my tit in Physics class, and you didn't even bat a goddamn eyelash."

"So Brent Wilson grabbed your tit…who the fuck hasn't?" 

Mandy threw a tater tot at him, hitting him square in the forehead. "Fuck you, asshole." 

Mickey laughed as he dodged yet another tater tot. Once again, he found himself glancing over his shoulder. He spotted Ian as soon as he walked into the cafeteria. The corner of his lip twitched upwards, and his heart rate sped up a little faster as soon as his eyes met Ian's.

"Jesus, could you two be any more fucking obvious?" Mandy asked snidely. 

Mickey turned back around in his seat, feeling his cheeks flush and hoping Mandy didn't notice. She'd never let him live that shit down.

Mandy sighed as she waved her fork around. "You might as well invite him over. It's not like it's a secret anymore that the two of you have massive boners for each other." Just as Mickey was about to open his mouth to argue, she sighed and said, "Don't worry. I'm not going to tell him anything you don't want me to tell him…even though I still think it's a terrible fucking idea." 

"I got it, alright? Don't worry about it."

Mandy just rolled her eyes and went back to her meatloaf.

Mickey gnawed on his bottom lip, and then looked back over his shoulder to find Ian still awkwardly standing in the middle of the cafeteria, tray in hand. He jerked his head curtly, motioning for Ian to join them.

Ian began making his way towards their table, his eyes flickering back and forth between Mickey and Mandy, undoubtedly trying to decipher if he had misread Mickey's head nod or not. "Uh…hey." 

Mickey continued gnawing on his lip, resisting the grin that wanted to break free. He found it oddly adorable how Ian could be the cockiest motherfucker just hours before, but now he was a blushing, nervous idiot. Mickey was also kind of pleased that he was able to turn Ian into a blushing, nervous idiot. 

"So," Mandy said, speaking up after their staring went on a few seconds longer than it should have. "Are you going to formally introduce me to your boyfriend here, or are you just going to stare at each other like fucking idiots until lunch is over?"

Mickey unlocked his eyes from Ian's long enough to shoot his sister a hateful glare. He then felt like an idiot under his sister's scrutiny. When did he turn into this guy? This guy that got tongue-tied and stupid over a boy? "He's not my fucking boyfriend, Jesus," he mumbled, missing the disappointed look that crossed Ian's face. He continued on, oblivious. "This is Ian. We just… we hang out." 

Ian pulled out the chair next to Mickey and sat down. Mickey did everything he could to not glance over at him, even though he was super aware of Ian's every movement. 

"Hi, Ian. I'm Mandy," Mandy said, clearly sizing Ian up. "You're kinda fucking adorable…for a ginger." 

"Uh…thanks?" Ian said warily. 

Mickey stared down at his food, suddenly regretting inviting Ian over. He should have known his sister was going to make it super fucking awkward and uncomfortable. 

"So, are you two fucking, or what?" 

Of fucking course Mandy would ask that question as soon as Mickey took a sip of his juice. The juice went spraying all over his tray and part of Ian's. "Fuck, Mandy!" 

"No, uh…" Ian began awkwardly, "not fucking. We're going out on a date tonight, though."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Mickey mumbled, regretting inviting Ian over more and more by the second. He ran a hand down his face, and then he chanced a look at his sister, who was, of course, watching him with a raised eyebrow.

"Since when do you go on dates?"

"Since fucking now, apparently," Mickey shot back, already knowing what she was thinking, and knowing he was going to get an earful at home later. 

Mandy pretended to look at her phone and then stood up, gathering her tray and backpack as she did so. "I have to go. I'll see you at home later," she said bluntly before walking away. 

Mickey pinched the bridge of his nose as he silently counted to ten in his head. He really wished Mandy would chill the fuck out and let him live his life. 

"So, that didn't go so well," Ian said from beside him. "I don't think she likes me very much."

Mickey pulled his hand from his face and sighed. "Nah, man. She's just…it takes her a while to warm up to people," he said. He then took in Ian's despondent expression, and he resisted the weird urge to reach out and caress Ian's cheek with his thumb. "Besides, it doesn't matter if she likes you or not. All that matters is that I do." The words were out of his mouth before he could fully think them through, but he didn't regret them.

The confident smile finally returned to Ian's face as Mickey's words sank in. Under the table, he reached over and squeezed Mickey's knee. 

Mickey relaxed after a few moments, and then returned Ian's smile. 

  


* * *

  


Ian leaned back against the chain link fence behind him and took a slow drag of his cigarette in an attempt to calm his jittery nerves. He and Mickey had agreed to meet each other at the baseball field in their neighborhood for their date. Mickey was already seven minutes late, and Ian was starting to get paranoid.

Had Mickey changed his mind? For a closeted gay kid in the South Side of Chicago, going out on a date with another guy was a big fucking deal. Life-threatening even. Ian wouldn't blame him if he had decided to bail.

Just as Ian finished his cigarette and was about to check his phone, he spotted Mickey making his way down the street towards him. Ian grinned and pushed away from the fence as he eyed Mickey up. Mickey was wearing his typical ratty jeans and tank top, but Ian still thought he looked awesome. 

"Hey," Mickey said once he reached him, throwing his own cigarette to the ground and stomping it out. He then looked up and eyed Ian's outfit. "Shit, man…should I have dressed up for this? Didn't realize you were going all out."

Ian had decided to dress up a bit with a pair of khakis that he had Fiona iron for him, and a baby blue button-down shirt. 

"No, what you have on is good," Ian said, his voice cracking a little. Fuck. He then decided to cut the tension with some humor. He scratched at the back of his neck as he eyed Mickey's bare biceps and said, "It's just, uh…if I would have known you were inviting me to the gun show tonight, I wouldn't have dressed up."

He was answered with a sharp elbow jab to the ribs as Mickey laughed. "Ay, fuck you, man."

"Ow, asshole." Ian laughed back as he rubbed at his achy ribs. "Now that we got the abuse out of the way, you ready to start our date?" 

"Yeah, man," Mickey said, rubbing at his lower lip. 

Ian grabbed Mickey's hand and pulled it away from his mouth. "Hey, none of that. There's no reason to be nervous. I got you." 

Mickey shot him an amused smirk. "You seem pretty fucking confident." 

"Oh, I am." Ian grinned, and then swept his arm out to motion towards the beat up Monte Carlo parked at the curb. "Your chariot awaits, my sir," he said in a bad accent. "I borrowed it from a neighbor for the night. Have to mow his lawn for the summer, but I figure it's worth it." 

"I hope by 'mow his lawn' you actually mean mow his lawn. It's not some sort of sick euphemism for something else, is it?" 

Ian smirked as he opened up the door for Mickey. "Why? Jealous?"

Mickey decided to completely ignore the comment. His eyebrows then arched when he realized Ian was holding the car door open for him. "Seriously? You're opening up the door for me like I'm some chick?" 

"Hey, if we're going to do this, I'm going all out," Ian said, motioning for Mickey to get in the car. "Get in and stop fucking arguing with me."

Mickey locked eyes with him, his mouth still curled in a smirk as he finally got inside the car. "So fucking lame," he murmured under his breath. 

Ian made sure Mickey was in all the way before shutting the door and jogging around to the other side of the car to get in. As he adjusted his seat and put on his seatbelt, he looked over at Mickey to find the other boy watching him. Ian got the sudden incredible urge to lean over and kiss him, but he knew that it wasn't the time. 

Judging by the way Mickey was looking at him, Ian had a feeling that Mickey probably wouldn't have minded a kiss, but Ian had promised that he'd work for it…and the night had only just begun. There was no need to rush. 

  


* * *

  


After driving for almost a half an hour, they arrived in Cicero. It wasn't too far of a drive from Canaryville, but it was far enough away so that no one would recognize them…far enough away so that Mickey could relax a little and feel somewhat safe. 

Ian pulled into the parking lot of their first destination and looked over to gauge Mickey's reaction. "I spent over an hour on my family's slow ass laptop last night to see what we could do around here and found this place. I thought it'd be fun."

Mickey eyed the gaudy, fluorescent sign, and then turned his head to look at Ian skeptically. "Mini golf?"

Ian shrugged a shoulder. "Yeah, why not? What's wrong with mini golf?" 

"Nothing…" Mickey answered, scratching at his temple. "Just haven't played in years."

"I'll go easy on you, then," Ian assured him with a wink. He then laughed when Mickey scoffed. "Come on."

They exited the car and made their way into the small building to buy their balls and mini golf clubs. After the first half dozen holes, Ian was clearly in the lead, and Mickey was grumpy as all hell about it.

"You didn't really expect me to go easy on you, did you?" Ian asked with a shit-eating grin.

"Fuck off," Mickey mumbled as he positioned himself and tried to figure out the best angle to putt. He poked his tongue out of the corner of his mouth in intense concentration, and Ian thought it was the most adorable fucking thing he'd ever seen. He had never seen someone take putt-putt golf so seriously before. 

After Mickey took his turn and missed horribly, Ian laughed a little at his date's obvious frustration. Taking advantage of the fact that no one else was currently on the course with them, he walked up behind Mickey. "Here, let me show you how it's done."

"You ain't gotta show me shit," Mickey snapped. "I know what I'm doing."

Ian rolled his eyes and continued on, anyway. He pressed himself fully against Mickey's back and brought his arms around to grab Mickey's forearms. "Bend over just a little," he murmured huskily against Mickey's ear. He then grinned when he heard Mickey suck in a breath. "Further. Just a little bit more. Yeah…like that."

"Fucking ridiculous," Mickey mumbled as he bent over a little bit more. 

"You didn't really have to bend over that much, I just wanted to feel your ass against me," Ian admitted with a laugh, and then immediately shrunk away when Mickey spun around to face him. "Alright, alright!" he exclaimed through his laughter. "Hey, you can't blame me for trying to cop a feel." 

"The fuck I can't," Mickey retorted. "You said you were going to impress me, and so far this date fucking blows."

"You always this grumpy when you lose?" 

Mickey fixed Ian with a baleful glare.

"Okay," Ian said once his laughter subsided. "Let's just say I won and go get some food." 

"No, wait…you're forfeiting, then? You forfeit, you lose," Mickey said matter-of-factly, his eyebrows arching to show he meant business. "Those are the rules."

Ian could only shake his head and roll his eyes. "Yeah, sure…I forfeit, you win," he said with a sigh. Mickey then grinned, and Ian figured it was probably worth it.

  


* * *

  


Ian couldn't really believe what was happening. 

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he said to the flustered restaurant host a short while later. "I called last night and made a reservation. Look again…Ian Gallagher." 

"I am sorry, sir. We do not have a reservation under the name Gallagher," the man said apologetically. "Are you sure you called this particular restaurant?"

"Yes, I'm sure." Ian was seconds away from punching the smug bastard in his face but refrained. The date was already turning to shit, he didn't need to add to it by getting arrested. "You don't have any tables open at all? There's just two of us, for fuck's sake." 

The man eyed Ian disapprovingly and turned his nose up slightly. "I'm sorry, we're all booked up."

"Alright, watch the attitude, asshole," Mickey said, coming to Ian's defense. "We wouldn't even be standing here having this conversation if you fucktards knew how to do your fucking job." 

"Marty!" the man called out over his shoulder. "Marty!"

"Come on, Mick, let's just go," Ian murmured. "It's not worth it."

Mickey stared the host down as Ian began pulling him backwards out the door. 

Once they were outside, Ian let out a frustrated yell. "Fuck!" He ran a hand over his hair. "That fucking asshole! He knew damn well I called for a reservation! He took one look at us and—"

"Hey. Hey," Mickey said, grabbing Ian's arm and turning Ian around to face him. "It's cool, alright? We'll just go somewhere else. You can buy me lobster on the second date." 

"It's so fucked up," Ian grumbled, still smarting with irritation. He ran a hand over his face, and then froze a little. "Wait…did you just say second date?" He then grinned, his whole mood shifting.

Mickey rolled his eyes, and then grabbed Ian by the hem of his shirt and tugged him along. "Let's go, I'm fucking starving." 

  


* * *

  


A little while later, they settled on a crappy burger joint for their dinner and ordered through the drive-thru. They parked the car in a corner of the parking lot and sat on the hood to eat, deciding to enjoy the warm mid-May night air. 

"Sorry this date blows so far," Ian said through a mouthful of fries. 

"Nah, man," Mickey said before taking a slurp of his milkshake. "It's not that bad."

Ian gave him a you-gotta-be-kidding-me look. "First, I kick your ass in mini golf—"

"You didn't…look, you didn't kick my ass, alright?" Mickey snapped. 

Ian continued on as if he hadn't heard him. "And then the restaurant I reserved wouldn't let us sit down…now we're sitting on the hood of a car eating shit burgers and fries. Not exactly how I had planned it." 

"Ay, man, I don't know about you, but my burger is fucking delicious," Mickey said, and then held up his milkshake, "and you can't go wrong with a milkshake." 

Ian let out an amused chortle as he stared down at his food. 

"Plus, I don't know…it's kinda nice sitting out here with you," Mickey finished, his voice softening. 

Ian looked up and locked eyes with Mickey, suddenly thinking that maybe the night wasn't so bad. Once again, he got the crazy urge to lean over and kiss Mickey, but he didn't. He certainly hadn't earned it yet…not after the way the night was going.

After they were finished eating, they decided to head back to Canaryville, since it was already nearing ten o'clock, and they had school the next day. As grown up as they both always tried to pretend to be, they were still just teenagers.

As they were driving home, Ian decided to break the silence. "So, uh," he began, wondering if it was safe to broach the topic. "Do you want me to drop you off at your house or—"

"Nah, man, you can just drop me off at the field and I can walk home. No big deal." 

Ian sighed and gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. Before he could stop himself—and knowing that he was potentially about to piss Mickey off—he asked, "Why won't you let me know where you live, Mick? Why all the bullshit secrets?"

"Can we not talk about this right now?" Mickey asked tiredly. "Please?"

"We just went on a date, Mickey, and I'd kinda like to go on another one," Ian said, taking his eyes off the road for a second to look at him. "If we're going to continue doing this, it would be kinda nice to know where you live." He looked over to see Mickey gazing out of the window, gnawing on his lower lip. 

Ian then sighed, feeling like he was pushing Mickey into something he wasn't ready for, and he instantly regretted it. 

As soon as he opened his mouth to try to rectify the situation, there was a loud popping sound, and the car immediately began veering to the left. Ian struggled with the steering wheel for a few terrifying seconds before regaining control. He pulled off to the side of the road and cut the engine, his heart racing in his throat.

"What the fuck?" Mickey exclaimed. 

Ian closed his eyes and leaned forward to press his forehead to the steering wheel. "This isn't fucking happening right now," he muttered, not believing his luck. He got out of the car to inspect the flat tire, slamming the door shut behind himself.

Mickey followed suit and walked around to inspect the tire himself. "It's cool," he said as he nodded towards the trunk. "We'll just pull out the spare. Shouldn't take long to fix." 

Ian popped the trunk to grab the spare only to find that there wasn't one. He let out a dry, bitter laugh. He slammed the hood back down and braced his hands on the trunk of the car and hung his head. He pushed against the car, his forearms tensing from the pressure. "Fuck!" he suddenly yelled. 

"Ay—" Mickey began.

"No, Mickey, don't," Ian interrupted flatly. "Don't tell me how it's cool, and how everything's so damn fixable. Every fucking possible thing that could go wrong tonight went wrong. I did everything I could to impress you. I bought fucking cologne, and had Fiona iron my pants for me, and I scraped together every last cent I had, and spent a fucking hour on the internet last night looking up shit for us to do, and then this fucking happens. I can't fucking—" Ian was cut off when Mickey grabbed him by the wrist and tugged him forward so that their bodies were pressed together. 

Mickey reached his hand up and cupped it over Ian's cheek, the pad of his thumb smoothing over Ian's cheek. He visibly swallowed and then leaned in. He pressed his forehead to Ian's and closed his eyes, his unsteady breath coming out in short bursts, caressing Ian's face. 

"Mick," Ian whispered, his own breathing ragged. He placed his hands on Mickey's hips and clutched the material of Mickey's shirt, suddenly forgetting what he had been yelling about just seconds ago. 

"You don't need to impress me, alright?" Mickey grumbled, his voice thick. "You already got me."

Ian nervously let out a noise that was somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle. "Can I kiss you now?" he murmured. "I really wanna fucking kiss you right now." 

"I've never kissed anyone before," Mickey rasped, his eyes still closed. "I might be bad at it." 

"Not fuckin' possible," Ian whispered just as he angled his head and leaned in to press his lips gently against Mickey's. It was a soft, sweet kiss; just a gentle brushing on the lips before Ian pulled away, still not wanting to rush it. He had rushed everything with every other guy he had ever been with before. Mickey was different. Mickey was special. Even after only knowing him for a little less than two months, Ian already knew that. 

Their eyes remained closed and their foreheads remained touching, as they both tried to catch their breaths. 

Ian reached up and cupped Mickey's face in his hands, and then tilted Mickey's face up to press a kiss to Mickey's forehead. "Maybe this date wasn't so bad," he muttered against Mickey's skin. 

Mickey pressed closer against Ian and rested his hands on Ian's biceps. "I'd say it was pretty fucking awesome." 

Ian laughed and pressed another kiss to Mickey's forehead.

Eventually, he had to pull away and call for help, but he had a grin plastered on his face the entire way home an hour later. The smile was still there when he dropped Mickey off in front of his house, and even when he finally crawled into bed that night; completely exhausted, but also completely and utterly happy.


	7. Tears Me Up Whenever You're Around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the long wait! I was suffering from major writer's block, but I do fully intend on finishing this thing! Thanks for being so patient <3

The next morning at school, Ian found Mickey standing at his locker as usual. 

Mickey looked extra fucking good, and Ian was reminded of the hot kiss that they had shared the night before on their date for not the first time that morning.

Ian smiled softly and made his way over to Mickey. 

"Excuse me. Yeah…uh…you look like this really hot guy I took out on a date last night," Ian murmured over Mickey's shoulder, smiling gently when he heard Mickey suck in a breath. "We had this really horrible fucking date where everything went to shit. It wasn't all bad, though. We shared this really incredible kiss that I can't stop thinking about. Kept me up for most of the night, actually."

Mickey's shoulders visibly relaxed as he went back to pulling books from his locker. "He went on a date with you? I pity the fucking guy."

Ian grinned and stepped around Mickey to lean against the locker next to his. "So…when do you wanna do it again?"

"Do what again?" Mickey asked, arching a brow.

"Kiss." 

"Who says I wanna kiss you again, huh?" Mickey asked, arching his eyebrow even higher.

"You know, I would take offense to that statement if you weren't staring at my lips while you said it," Ian said with a cocky little smirk.

Mickey lifted his eyes to Ian's and his shoulders slumped a little while he sighed. "Look, man…I meant what I said, alright? I like you and," he paused to take a quick look around the crowded hallway. He dropped his voice a little before continuing. "I want to keep doing what we did last night…the dating and the…the kissing, or whatever. But I want to take things slow, alright?"

Ian had never taken anything slow before as far as sex and dating were concerned. But, for Mickey, he was willing to do anything. "I can take it slow, because I meant what I said, too…I like you and you're worth it."

Mickey's eyes dropped to Ian's lips again, and then he quickly looked away. 

Ian’s grin widened and he hefted his backpack higher on his shoulder. "So, I was thinking," he said, changing the subject for Mickey's benefit. "Instead of studying in the library after school like we usually do, why don't we go back to my place? Fiona will be at the diner until eleven, so it'll just be us and my three younger siblings, but we'll study in my room so they don't bother us."

Mickey shuffled a little, looking apprehensive at the suggestion. "I don't know, man."

"It's not that big of a deal, Mick," Ian assured. "We can—"

"I said I don't fuckin’ know, alright?" Mickey snapped. "Why can't you just leave shit alone?"

Ian sighed and ran a hand over his hair. "So, what? You want to date me and kiss me, but you don't want to come to my house? You don't want me getting too close? That makes absolutely no sense."

"Look, I'll think about it, alright?" Mickey said, his tone a little too stiff for Ian's liking.

Ian watched him, once again getting the impression that Mickey was hiding something from him. 

"Are you sure that this is what you want?" Ian asked, his earlier playful tone gone. He watched as Mickey turned his head to look at him, his eyebrows furrowing. "I keep getting the feeling that something's off…that maybe you don't want this as much as I do. I mean, you won't come to my house, you get weird when we're in the hall together. When your sister's around, you act like I'm just some random fucking kid who follows you around—"

"Aye," Mickey interrupted, turning fully to face Ian. He then reached up to thumb at his own bottom lip as he focused his eyes on Ian's chest. "Fuck. Fine. Where do you live?" he finally mumbled. "I'll meet you at your place later…around six." 

Ian sighed, realizing he was pushing too fucking hard…again. "Look, fuck…I'm an asshole. I don't want you to feel pressured into doing something you're not ready for."

"Yeah?" Mickey asked with an arched brow. "Well, I don't want you thinking I don't want this." He then immediately clamped his mouth shut and ran a hand down his face when he realized he was getting too schmaltzy. "Fuck."

Ian grinned. "You so wanna kiss me again," he said before pushing away from the locker and brushing suggestively past Mickey to start his way down the hall. "I'll see you after school." He grinned when he looked over his shoulder to find Mickey looking at his ass.

  


* * *

  


At six o'clock on the dot, Ian walked to the window and peeked out through the dingy curtains, looking for any sign of Mickey.

“Why are you pacing back and forth like a weirdo?” Debbie asked from the couch, where she was eating a massive bowl of Froot Loops and watching Jerry Springer. The Gallaghers loved watching Springer; the show always seemed to make their lives seem a little less shitty. “Who are you waiting for anyway?”

"No one, Debs," Ian grumbled as his eyes scanned the street. 

He had already had a feeling that Mickey wasn't going to show up. Ian knew he shouldn't have pushed him so hard. Mickey had made it perfectly clear that going to each other's houses—that getting too personal—was out of the question…but, like always, Ian had pushed and had probably scared Mickey off for good. 

After another ten minutes of staring out the window, Ian sighed and decided to give up. He turned and headed dejectedly towards the stairs. "I'll be upstairs doing my homework if you need me," he said to Debbie, even though he was pretty sure she was too enthralled with her trash TV show to hear him. 

Once upstairs, Ian settled on his bed and opened his trig book to get started. Thanks to Mickey, trig was starting to make more and more sense to Ian, and the homework was becoming a little less grueling. Ian got lost in his work after a few minutes and didn't even hear the door opening.

"Sorry, I'm late." 

Ian's head shot up and he immediately grinned, relief flooding through him. The sight of Mickey in his bedroom was a little surreal. "You showed up."

Mickey shrugged a shoulder. "Told you I would." He then reached up and thumbed at his lower lip. "Your sister let me in."

"Yeah, that's Debbie. She's a cool kid," Ian said, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed about his messy room. "So, uh," he began as he moved his feet to give Mickey room on the bed. "You can sit down if you want."

Mickey cocked an eyebrow. "Sit on your bed, huh?" 

Ian smirked. "Why? Don't think you can control yourself around me?" 

Mickey smirked right back as he shrugged his backpack off. "I can control myself just fucking fine, thank you," he said before sitting down on the bed near Ian's feet. Just as Ian was about to put his socked feet on Mickey's lap, Mickey snapped, "Touch me with your fucking feet, and I'll cut them off at the ankles."

Ian pulled back and laughed heartily. "Not a foot person. Got it." He watched as Mickey began pulling books from his backpack. Mickey looked so fucking sexy in the moment, especially sitting on his bed. Maybe Ian hadn't thought this whole thing through enough. Ian was beginning to wonder if he would be able to control himself in this situation. 

But they were taking things slow. That's what they had agreed on. So Ian knew he had to behave himself, no matter hard it was to resist. 

After a few minutes, they both became engrossed in their homework. Before either of them knew it, an hour had passed.

Ian tossed his pencil down and cracked his knuckles. "Do you need a break? I need a break." He stretched his arms high over his head and arched his back to try to get the kink out. He watched as Mickey's gaze turned towards him. He then watched in delight as Mickey’s eyes took him in, and he noted the slight blush that formed on Mickey’s cheeks as he quickly looked away. Ian decided not to point it out. “You hungry?” 

“Yeah, man, I can eat.” 

“Okay, I’ll go make us some sandwiches. Bologna good?” On Mickey's approving nod, Ian climbed off the bed. He knocked Mickey’s backpack on the floor in the process, and he froze when he looked down to see a prescription pill bottle roll out of the bag. He bent down to pick the bottle up, but Mickey was faster, snatching the bottle from Ian’s hand. 

Ian watched as Mickey hastily shoved the bottle back into his bag, and he also noted how embarrassed Mickey looked. “What are those pills for?”

“Don’t fucking worry about it,” Mickey snapped. “They’re just some over-the-counter pain meds. Not a big fucking deal.” 

“Pain meds for what?” 

Mickey sighed heavily, snapped his textbook shut, and began moving to stand up. He didn’t get very far because Ian reached out and grabbed Mickey's forearm to stop him from leaving.

“Don’t go,” Ian said, on the verge of pleading. “I don’t want you to go. You don’t have to tell me what the pills are for, okay? I know it’s not my business.” 

Mickey shrugged his arm out of Ian’s grasp and ran a shaky hand down his face.

Ian swallowed and chose his next words carefully. “Just…you’re okay, right? There’s nothing wrong?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Mickey snapped immediately. “They’re just fucking pain pills for these migraines I get every now and then. Now can we get back to studying? Please?”

Ian nodded and watched as Mickey sat back down on the bed. He ran a hand through his hair and then reluctantly sat back down, too.

  


* * *

  


A few nights later, Ian picked Mickey up at the Milkovich house to go on their second official date. As per Mickey’s instructions, Ian stood on the sidewalk and texted Mickey when he was outside. He was absolutely _not_ to go on the porch or knock on the door. Ian didn’t bother to ask why he couldn’t do those things. He didn’t want to push Mickey even more than he already had the day in his bedroom.

Ever since Ian found the pill bottle, things between him and Mickey were a little uncomfortable. Even though they still ate lunch together and studied together after school, Ian could sense that Mickey was pulling back a little, so Ian felt like he was walking on eggshells around Mickey. 

He knew Mickey was keeping something from him and it hurt. He wanted to know Mickey. He wanted to know everything, good and bad. So the fact that Mickey was hiding this big part of his life didn’t sit too well with Ian. 

But he liked Mickey. So he would just have to push his own frustrations and self-doubt aside and just hope that Mickey would open up sooner or later. 

After standing around and smoking a cigarette for a few minutes, Mickey finally emerged from the house, a man’s gruff shouting flowing out from the house. 

Mickey quickly shut the door and jogged down the steps. He brushed past Ian and barely glanced in Ian's direction as he started down the street. “Let’s go.”

Ian wanted so badly to ask who had been shouting, but he refrained. Instead, he caught up with Mickey, fell into step with him, and then handed Mickey the cigarette. 

They walked in silence for a couple of minutes, and only when they were a few blocks away from the Milkovich home did Mickey speak. “That was my asshole dad back there. He was in one of his fucking moods.” 

Ian nodded curtly and stared down at his shoes, waiting for Mickey to elaborate. He didn’t. 

They entered the arcade that was the setting for their second date, as per Mickey’s request, and they immediately got lost in games of skeeball and air hockey. Before long, both boys were laughing and having a good time, the awkward tension long gone.

After Mickey kicked Ian’s ass in almost every game, they made their way to the concession area, and they each ordered hot dogs with the works and a heaping order of nachos to share. They found a booth in the back of the arcade and sat down facing each other.

As Mickey devoured his hot dog, Ian watched him. 

Mickey must have felt Ian staring, and he looked up with arched eyebrows. “Can I help you with something? What did I say about the creepy staring?”

“You just look really fucking sexy eating that hot dog,” Ian said with a small, teasing smile. 

Mickey started to nervously look around to make sure there was no one within earshot, but he hesitated when Ian reached forward and placed his hand over Mickey’s.

“Hey,” Ian said, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just us here, Mick.” 

Mickey swallowed his bite of food and hesitated for a few seconds before saying, “Come on, man. What fucking world do you live in? It’s not just us.” 

Ian pulled his hand away from Mickey's and averted his eyes, trying to hide his disappointment. Here he was, dating a cute as hell, closeted boy who was keeping a huge secret from him, and all Ian wanted to do was break down Mickey’s walls. 

But Mickey just didn’t seem to be budging. 

After they played a few games of foosball, they decided to call it a night and Ian walked Mickey home. Once they stopped in front of the Milkovich home, Ian shoved his hands into his pockets and turned to face Mickey, his head hung slightly. 

“So, I’ll see you at school tomorrow?” Mickey asked.

“Yeah,” Ian answered halfheartedly. 

Mickey nodded curtly, his bottom lip wedged between his teeth.

Ian began to lean in for a kiss, but he was denied when Mickey took a step back.

"The fuck? Not here, man," Mickey warned, hesitating a little before turning to head up the steps to his porch.

“I can’t do this,” Ian called out. He watched as Mickey turned around to eye him, his face illuminated by the porch light. He watched Mickey visibly swallow before he continued. “I thought I could, but I can’t.” 

Mickey slowly climbed down two steps, but then stopped before reaching the bottom. “Can’t do what?” 

“This,” Ian said thickly. He blinked back the moisture at the corners of his eyes. “I thought I could…and I really wanted this to work out because…fuck, Mickey. You’re…you’re amazing, alright? You’re fucking amazing, and I just wanted to know you, but I feel like…I feel like I keep giving and giving and giving, and I’m not getting much back.” 

Mickey took in Ian’s words and his brows furrowed. “So, what? Because I won’t hold your hand in a fucking arcade, or kiss you in the middle of a fucking school hallway, we’re done?” 

Ian ran a hand through his hair and shuffled nervously on his feet. He then let out a heavy sigh and desperately stepped forward. “No, that’s…that’s not what this is about. I just feel like…like you’re holding back, like you’re…not into me as much as I’m into you. Like you're just going along with it.”

Mickey licked at his bottom lip before saying in a hushed tone, “So, me going out on two dates with you, me fucking kissing you, me inviting you to my fucking house…none of that matters?” 

“I…I just…nothing I wanna say is coming out right,” Ian said helplessly as he rubbed at his forehead. "I just…"

“Here, let me make it really fucking easy for you,” Mickey snapped. “Don’t fucking say anything at all. I’m done. We’re done. It’s easier this fucking way, anyway. I don’t need this bullshit in my life.”

Ian stared back at Mickey, his eyes brimming with tears. He nodded curtly and turned around, intent on getting as far away from Mickey Milkovich as possible before he could see Ian cry.

Ian didn’t get too far, however, when a strong hand grabbed his arm, and suddenly he was pulled into the shadows between the two houses and pushed up against the wall. 

Mickey pressed his forehead to Ian’s, his breathing shallow. “I’m trying, alright?” he said, his voice rough and unsteady and pleading. “I’m fucking trying. This isn’t easy for me. I never…fuck. I never wanted to let you in. I didn’t want to let anyone in.” 

“You don’t have to be afraid of me, Mickey,” Ian whispered back. He reached up and cupped his hands around Mickey’s face. Their mouths were only inches apart, their breath hot and mingling in the small space that separated them. “I’ll never hurt you.” 

Mickey reached up and grabbed Ian’s wrists, and then leaned in and pressed his mouth against Ian’s. 

Ian’s breath hitched as he kissed Mickey back just as fervently. He dropped his hands from Mickey’s cheeks and grabbed Mickey’s hips, his fingers fisting in the fabric of Mickey’s shirt, desperately holding him closer.

Mickey opened his mouth to Ian and moaned when their tongues touched. 

“I’ll never hurt you, Mickey,” Ian rasped when he pulled away for air and then kissed Mickey’s neck. “Ever.” 

“Ian,” Mickey moaned, and then surprised the both of them when he reached between them and palmed Ian through his jeans. “Fuck, you feel good. I just wanna fucking feel you. I don't wanna fucking think anymore.” 

Ian pulled back to stare at Mickey with hooded eyes as he reached down and fumbled with his own zipper. Once his dick was free, he gasped when Mickey’s warm hand wrapped around him. “Shit,” he moaned, pressing his face into Mickey’s shoulder. 

Mickey nuzzled his nose into Ian’s hair as he continued to stroke Ian’s dick. 

Ian took a chance and reached down to free Mickey’s dick from his jeans. Mickey felt perfect in his hand, and Ian jerked him with smooth, long strokes, eager to get Mickey off. He wanted his mouth on Mickey’s cock, wanted to taste him, but he would save that for another time. 

Ian gripped Mickey’s chin with his free hand and angled Mickey’s face towards his, and then kissed him eagerly as they continued to jerk each other off. 

They licked and bit and panted into each other’s mouths as they both neared their orgasms. 

“I want this,” Ian said, pulling away from the kiss to press his sweaty forehead against Mickey’s. “I want you, Mickey. All of you.” 

Mickey nodded, and then came into Ian’s hand with a groan. He dug his face into the crook of Ian’s neck and grabbed onto Ian’s shoulders to steady himself. 

Ian milked Mickey until he was spent. Once Mickey was finished, he worked his hand on Ian’s dick with quicker, tighter strokes. 

Mickey locked eyes with Ian. “I want you, too.” 

Ian leaned in and kissed Mickey hard before shooting his load into Mickey’s fist. He panted and whimpered into Mickey’s mouth until he was spent. He pressed his forehead against Mickey’s again, and then they both laughed as the reality of what had just happened hit them. 

Mickey pulled away and tucked himself back into his jeans and watched as Ian did the same. “Aye,” he said, hooking a finger under Ian’s chin and causing Ian to look up. “I meant what I said. I’m trying.”

Ian nodded and leaned forward to peck Mickey on the lips. 

Mickey smiled gently when Ian pulled away. “You better get out of here before someone comes investigating. You weren’t exactly quiet just now.”

“Oh, fuck you! You were so much louder than I was,” Ian defended with a laugh as they made their way out from between the two houses. He then smiled when he caught Mickey’s eyes. “I’ll see ya tomorrow?”

“I’ll be there,” Mickey said. He watched as Ian turned and began heading down the sidewalk in the direction of the Gallagher house. Mickey watched until Ian disappeared around the corner, before heading into the house.

He hesitated before walking through the door, never knowing what kind of mood his Pops would be in. Luckily for Mickey, Terry was passed out drunk on the couch.

As Mickey was heading towards the bathroom, intent on taking a long hot shower, he paused when Mandy came out of her room, the familiar look of disappointment etched on her face.

“Go out with Ian again?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but yeah,” Mickey said, moving to walk past her to go into the bathroom. Before he could seclude himself, Mandy spoke. 

“You have to tell him, Mick,” Mandy said, her tone sad. “He deserves to know. It’s not fair to him, or to you.” 

Mickey closed his eyes and rubbed at his forehead before turning around to look at her. “Look, I’ll fucking tell him, alright? I'll tell him.” 

“Do it soon,” Mandy answered. “Before things get worse. And you know they're going to get worse, Mickey."

Mickey gnawed on his bottom lip and averted his eyes, not wanting his sister to see the effect her words were having on him. 

Mandy gave him another look of disappointment before uncrossing her arms. “I made spaghetti if you’re hungry.”

“I’m not hungry,” Mickey snapped. He then slipped into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Once he was alone, he sat down on the toilet and ran a hand down his face.

He could still feel Ian’s lips and hands on him; could still smell Ian’s scent on his clothes.

Mickey blinked away the moisture in his eyes.

He could only wonder how much longer he’d have any of those things.


	8. It's Gonna Change Everything I Feel

As Mickey was making his way down the hallway at school the next day, he was suddenly grabbed by the hood of his sweatshirt. He was tugged backwards and pulled into an empty classroom before he had any time to react. He immediately went on the defensive, preparing to deck whoever had the nerve to do such a thing.

The door was shut behind him, and then he was pushed back against it, the air whooshing from his lungs. Before Mickey could even grasp what was happening, warm lips were on his, and large hands were cupping around his face. 

It took him only a few seconds to know exactly whose hands were on him, whose lips were on his, and he began kissing Ian back just as fervently, his backpack dropping to the floor at their feet. 

Ian’s thumbs smoothed over Mickey’s cheeks as he slowed the desperate kiss down, licking his way slowly into Mickey’s mouth, and groaning low in his throat when Mickey let him.

Mickey grabbed Ian’s hips and pulled Ian closer against him. 

Ian was the first to pull away for air and touched his forehead to Mickey’s. “Didn’t sleep much last night,” he murmured. “Been thinking about what we did… between the houses.”

“Yeah?” Mickey asked, his voice husky. He licked his lips and pulled away from Ian just enough to look up into Ian’s eyes. “Didn’t really get much sleep myself.”

Ian smiled gingerly, and then he dipped his head to kiss Mickey again, this time his lips soft and lingering, tugging gently at Mickey’s bottom lip when he pulled away seconds later. “Fuck, Mickey,” he whispered. "What the fuck are you doing to me?”

Mickey’s hands were still on Ian’s hips, and he slowly trailed them up Ian’s sides and up under his shirt, coming into contact with soft, warm skin.

“I can’t get you out of my damn head,” Ian continued, his thumbs still stroking Mickey’s cheeks. “You’re all I fuckin’ think about. You're—”

Mickey was the one to lean in for another kiss this time, stealing the next words right out of Ian’s mouth. He pressed forward and pushed Ian back until Ian’s butt came in contact with a desk. 

Ian laughed through the kiss as he hopped onto the desk. He hooked his legs around Mickey's waist and pulled him in closer as they made out like the teenagers they were, paying no mind to the throng of students and teachers milling around just outside the closed door. They were both too caught up in each other, too lost in each other’s kisses to care. 

Mickey pulled away from the intense kiss with a soft gasp before nuzzling his face in the crook of Ian’s shoulder. He pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to Ian’s neck as Ian raked his fingers gently through Mickey’s hair, murmuring his appreciation. 

“Mick,” Ian muttered against Mickey’s ear as Mickey kept kissing his neck. “I want…fuck. I wanna be your boyfriend.” He felt Mickey freeze against him, and Ian's heart dropped, knowing that he had most likely just killed the moment. 

Mickey pulled back and looked up into Ian’s eyes. He swallowed visibly and licked his pink, swollen lips. 

Ian stared back, his heart thumping in his throat. He hadn’t meant to say it; the words just tumbled out of his mouth. “I mean…” He ran a hand through his hair as he struggled to find the words to rectify the situation. 

The last thing Ian wanted to do was drive Mickey away again. “Shit, forget I said that. We can just keep doing this, okay? We can just… keep going on dates every once in awhile, and we can keep kissing like this… I don’t… I don’t need more. I don’t even know why I said it. I—” 

“I’ve never had a fuckin’ boyfriend before,” Mickey interrupted, his eyebrows arching.

Ian swallowed and nodded, waiting for Mickey to go on. 

“I never even _wanted_ a fuckin’ boyfriend.” 

And there it was. The cold hard truth. Ian braced himself for the tirade, fully expecting Mickey to flip out and walk away. 

“Okay,” Ian said slowly when Mickey didn’t continue. “Okay, I get it. It's cool.”

Mickey stared back at Ian, his expression unreadable. 

“Look, Mickey, can we just forget I even said anything?” Ian finally said.

Mickey finally averted his eyes away from Ian’s and, after a short pause, nodded curtly.

Ian hopped off the desk and brushed gently past Mickey, intent on dropping the subject and hoping that nothing would change. Just as Ian grabbed his backpack and headed for the door, Mickey’s voice stopped him.

“No, you know what, Gallagher…fuck that.”

Ian closed his eyes, sighed, and then turned around to face Mickey’s wrath. 

“Fuck you,” Mickey said. He took a step closer. “Fuck you for buggin’ the shit outta me until I had no choice but to be your fuckin’ friend. Fuck you for making me laugh at your lame ass jokes.” He took another step closer. “And fuck you for making me even consider wanting a stupid-ass fuckin’ boyfriend.” He took another step, and he was then just a foot away from Ian. He reached out and hooked his finger through one of Ian’s belt loops and pulled Ian to him. 

Ian dropped his bag to the floor and allowed Mickey to pull him closer as a small smile played on his lips. Mickey’s hand wrapped around the back of Ian’s neck to press their foreheads together. 

“Fuck you,” Mickey murmured affectionately.

“So,” Ian said as he closed his eyes and pressed against Mickey, “does this mean I’m your guy?” 

Mickey tilted his head up and, as his lips barely brushed against Ian’s, he murmured, “Yeah, asshole. You’re my guy.” He then kissed Ian properly. They pulled apart a handful of seconds later when the bell rang. 

Ian smiled and tapped his forehead against Mickey’s one last time before finally pulling away. He picked up his bag, kept his eyes locked playfully with Mickey’s, and walked backwards towards the door.

Ian didn’t see the way Mickey’s smile faltered a little once Ian’s back was turned.  


  


* * *

  


  
Ian walked into the cafeteria later that day and immediately looked in the direction of the table where Mickey usually sat with his sister. Mickey was nowhere in sight, but Mandy was there, looking bored and mindlessly forking through her food.

Ian thought about going over to her for just a split second before thinking better of it. He sat down a few tables away from her and immediately dug into his food. A shadow fell over the table a minute later, and he looked up to find Mandy standing over him. He swallowed his food thickly and stared up at her.

“My brother likes you.” 

Ian mindlessly toyed with his milk carton with the hand that wasn’t holding his fork. “I know,” he said, “and I like your brother. A lot.” 

Mandy ran a hand through her hair and took a look around the crowded cafeteria before looking back down at Ian, her eyes sad. “I tried to tell him that dating you was a bad idea, but he doesn’t want to listen. I can’t stop him from seeing you. Just… just don’t fuckin’ hurt him.”

Ian didn’t know what to say to that.

“You hurt him, I’ll hurt you. Got it?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I got it.” Ian watched dumbfounded as Mandy then turned and headed for the exit. His eyes dropped to the table, still trying to process what had just happened. 

“Aye.”

Ian looked up to find Mickey now standing next to his table. He forced a small smile, and then kicked the chair next to him out, indicating for Mickey to sit down. “Hey.” 

Mickey sat down and began shaking his apple juice, all the while his eyes stayed on Ian’s, a soft smirk tugging at his mouth. 

“So, your sister just threatened me.”

The smirk instantly slipped from Mickey’s mouth. “What the fuck do you mean Mandy threatened you? The fuck did she say?”

“That she tried to warn you about going out with me, and how you wouldn’t listen,” Ian said. “She then said that if I hurt you, she’s going to hurt me.” 

Mickey rubbed a hand over his face and sat back in his chair. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ. I wish she would just mind her own fuckin’ business for once.”

Ian watched Mickey, still toying with his milk carton. “Why is she so protective of you, anyway?” he asked carefully. 

Mickey’s eyes averted away from Ian’s as he began digging into his food. He shrugged stiffly. “Who the fuck knows, man,” he said after a short pause. “Bitch needs to get a life.”

Ian watched Mickey as he ate, once again having the sinking suspicion that Mickey was hiding something big from him. There had to be a reason why Mandy was so protective of Mickey. There had to be a reason why Mickey didn’t want Ian around his sister. Ian wondered if he was ever going to find out what that reason was. 

Ian suddenly found himself not very hungry.  


  


* * *

  


  
After lunch, Ian and Mickey made their way out of the cafeteria. 

The hallway was crowded with students scrambling to get to their next class, so they took advantage of the opportunity of no one paying attention to them to walk a little closer to each other. They snuck flirty glances in each other’s directions and bumped shoulders, and Ian could have sworn he seen Mickey blush a little, even though he knew Mickey would never admit it. 

Ian’s earlier sour mood was beginning to lift, and all he wanted to do was drag his new boyfriend into a nearby alcove and kiss him stupid. 

Just as Ian was about to open his mouth and suggest his idea, he heard his name being called.

“Hey, Gallagher!” 

Ian’s stomach dropped. He stopped in his tracks and looked over to find his ex-best friends Kent and Brian standing across the hall at their lockers, looking between Ian and Mickey with knowing smirks on their faces. 

“Eat shit,” Ian said before turning back around, intent on walking away before he decked him. 

“Yeah, go ahead and walk away, pussy,” Kent called out across the crowded hallway. “You and your faggot, dirtbag boyfriend. Go choke on each other’s dicks!” 

Ian’s jaw tightened and his hands clenched into fists. Just as he was about to turn around and retaliate, he stopped when he felt a strong hand on his forearm. 

“Just let it go, man,” Mickey grumbled. “Don’t cause a fuckin’ scene. He ain’t worth it.” 

Ian looked at Mickey, his anger stewing. He then eventually nodded his head and acquiesced. He threw one last surly look in Kent’s direction before continuing down the hall with Mickey. 

“You alright, man?” Mickey asked Ian once they rounded a corner into a less-crowded hallway.

“Yeah,” Ian said stiffly. “I’m fuckin’ peachy.”

“Ay,” Mickey said, grabbing Ian’s arm and stopping him from walking away. Once Ian turned to face him, Mickey sighed. “Don’t let that prick get to you.” 

“I just… how the fuck was I ever friends with someone like that?” Ian was shaking with anger, his hand rubbing through his hair as he shifted his weight from foot to foot. 

“Come on,” Mickey said with a jerk of his head. “I wanna show you something.” 

“Show me what?” Ian snipped. 

Mickey sucked his teeth in irritation. “Just come on, man. Follow me.”

Ian watched after Mickey for a few seconds before following after him, curiosity getting the best of him.  


  


* * *

  


  
A few minutes later, Ian found himself under the bleachers. He looked over at Mickey with a quirked eyebrow. “You wanted to skip school to hang out under the bleachers? That was your big idea?” 

Mickey turned around and gave Ian a pointed look.

It took Ian about a dozen seconds to get what Mickey was hinting at. “Oh, I get it. You wanted to skip school to _hang out under the bleachers_.” He then grinned lasciviously and reached out, hooking his finger through one of Mickey’s belt loops and tugging Mickey closer. “If you wanted to make out with me, you coulda just said something.” 

“So fuckin’ cocky,” Mickey snipped, though his sarcasm was lost considering he was eye-fucking Ian as he said the words. 

“You have no idea how cocky I am,” Ian rasped as he leaned down and pressed his mouth against Mickey’s. 

“Think I have a pretty good idea,” Mickey murmured just before their lips met.

When Ian pulled away to kiss at Mickey’s neck, he huffed a warm breath against Mickey’s skin when he felt Mickey’s hands begin working on his belt buckle. 

“Don’t wanna just make out,” Mickey murmured next to Ian’s ear.

“Oh, yeah?” Ian asked breathlessly, his face still pressed into the crook of Mickey’s neck. “What do you wanna do then?” 

Mickey unzipped Ian’s pants and slipped his hand inside to palm Ian’s hardening dick. “Wanna suck your dick.” 

“Shit, Mickey,” Ian groaned as Mickey stroked him.

“Never done that before,” Mickey rasped against Ian’s ear.

“Sure you c-can—” Ian stammered. He swallowed thickly and then tried again. “Sure you can handle it?” 

Mickey pulled back to look into Ian’s eyes. “Don’t know. But I’m gonna fuckin’ try.” He smiled gently before sinking to his knees in front of Ian.

Ian stared down at Mickey and watched as Mickey pushed his pants and boxers down to his knees. He watched as Mickey stroked his dick slowly before leaning in and licking a slow, tentative stripe from base to tip. “Fuck, Mickey,” Ian gasped. He reached out and grabbed a hold of the metal bar next to his head as he continued watching Mickey lick his cock.

Mickey looked up and locked eyes with Ian before opening his mouth and wrapping his lips around the head of Ian’s dick. With their eyes still locked, Mickey bobbed his head down until he couldn’t take anymore and swallowed around Ian’s cock. 

“Jesus,” Ian moaned as he grabbed the back of Mickey’s head, just to keep him in place. He kept eye contact as Mickey slowly pulled back, his cheeks hollowed. “Feels so good,” he murmured. 

Mickey pulled off with a soft, wet pop of his mouth and stroked Ian with his hand as he caught his breath. “Taste good,” he muttered back before going back in. 

Ian rested his head back against a bar behind his head and moaned as Mickey bobbed his head on Ian’s cock. Ian could tell that Mickey wasn’t experienced at this, but it was still so fucking good. Mickey’s tight, hot little mouth working on his cock, his tongue swirling around the head every so often, the noises Mickey was making. Ian knew it wasn’t going to take much before he was coming down Mickey’s throat. 

Mickey moaned around Ian’s dick, which caused Ian to bang his head hard on the pole. 

“Shit, Mickey. You feel so fuckin’ good,” Ian gasped, feeling no pain. “Your fuckin’… mouth.”

Mickey pulled his mouth from Ian’s cock and looked up at him. “Yeah?” he asked as he stroked Ian’s dick. His lips were wet and swollen, his cheeks rosy. 

“Fuck, you look so good like that,” Ian moaned, digging a hand into Mickey’s hair.

Mickey gave Ian a cocky smirk before leaning back in. He swirled his tongue lazily around the head as he kept eye contact.

“Hey, what’s going on under there!” 

Ian came crashing back to reality and looked down just as Mickey was pulling back and jumping to stand up. “Fuck!” Ian hastily pulled his pants up and grabbed his backpack from the ground. 

“Let’s go!” Mickey yelled as they dashed in the opposite direction of whoever had caught them.

Ian and Mickey raced out from under the bleachers and ran until they were off school property and completely out of breath. They ducked into a nearby alley and bent over to catch their breaths.

“You think whoever it was saw us?” Ian asked breathlessly. “I can’t afford to get in trouble again. I’ll definitely get suspended.”

“Nah, man,” Mickey said. “They were too far away. Probably just saw our legs or some shit.” 

Ian continued to try to catch his breath as he watched Mickey. He then dissolved into a fit of laughter. “C’mere,” he said breathlessly as he grabbed Mickey by the back of the neck and pulled him in for a sweet kiss. 

Mickey smiled against Ian’s lips and kissed him back hard before shoving Ian away playfully.  


  


* * *

  


  
The next day at school, Ian made his way down the hallway in a sleepy stupor. He weaved his way through the throng of students and yawned so wide that his jaw cracked. 

As Ian made his way towards Mickey’s locker to greet his new boyfriend, he couldn’t help but notice that the hallway chatter seemed even more buzzed than usual. He couldn’t help but notice the whispers, giggles, and clusters of students gathered with their heads huddled together. 

He frowned as he continued on his way, wondering what bit of gossip had hit the rumor mill that morning. 

He turned the corner and looked towards Mickey’s locker, expecting to find Mickey there waiting for him like every other morning. 

What he saw instead made his heart drop. 

Mickey was nowhere to be found. And written on his locker—in bright red, jagged letters—was six letters, one ugly word: _faggot_. 

Ian swallowed thickly and blinked rapidly, trying to keep his emotions in check. His fists clenched at his sides and his face grew hot as he stared at the offensive slur spray painted so hatefully on his boyfriend’s locker.

As he stared, he heard the whispers around him growing louder. 

Movement from the corner of Ian’s eye caught his attention, and Ian turned his head to find Mickey standing a few yards away; his face stark white as he stared at his locker. He saw Mickey swallow hard, and Ian wanted nothing more than to stride over to him and pull Mickey into his arms. 

Ian clenched his fists as his anger overtook him. “Hey,” he breathed, walking over to Mickey. “Hey. You okay?” he asked, stopping inches from Mickey and lowering his voice. He resisted the strong urge to cup Mickey's face in his hands. 

“Yeah,” Mickey said distractedly as he scrubbed a hand down his face and then looked around, his cheeks flushing as he realized everyone was staring and whispering. “Fuck,” he mumbled shakily under his breath. 

When Mickey looked up and locked eyes with Ian, the pain and embarrassment Ian saw in Mickey’s eyes made his chest hurt. 

“I’m gonna take care of this,” Ian declared bluntly, his jaw tight. “You hear me? I’m taking care of this.”

Without saying anything more, Ian turned and headed down the hallway, his anger stewing. He rounded the corner and—just as he suspected—found his former best friend standing at his locker. Without warning, Ian shoved Kent hard from behind, causing Kent to slam face first against his locker.

“What the fuck!” Kent exclaimed.

“You think you’re fucking funny, tough guy?” Ian spat as he pushed Kent again, harder this time, and then held Kent’s cheek against the cold locker as he leaned in to snarl in Kent's ear. “You think you’re funny, huh!” When Kent didn’t say anything, Ian let go of Kent’s face, waited until Kent spun around to face him, and then punched him hard in the face.

“Ian, what the fuck,” Mickey exclaimed, suddenly behind Ian and trying to pull Ian back. He was roughly shoved off. Mickey stumbled backwards a few steps before lurching forward to try again. “Stop, man, you’ll get fucking suspended! He ain’t worth it!” 

Ian wasn’t listening, too lost in his rage. He punched Kent in the gut and then, when Kent bent over, kneed him hard in the face. 

Kent fell to the floor and shielded his head with his arms as Ian pummeled him.

“You think you’re fucking funny!” Ian exclaimed, paying no mind to the crowd that was now formed around them. 

“Ian!” Mickey yelled again. He grabbed Ian hard under the arm and tugged with all of his might, causing Ian to tumble backwards and off of his bloodied and battered former best friend. 

Ian was on his ass as he stared at Kent. He was shaking with anger and tears were streaming down his cheeks. 

“Hey,” Mickey said soothingly as he knelt down next to Ian. “Hey…”

Ian finally tore his eyes away from Kent and looked up into Mickey’s eyes. He nodded slightly and closed his eyes. He wanted nothing more than to lean forward and press his face into Mickey’s chest, but he refrained… considering they were in the middle of a crowded hallway. 

Before Mickey could say or do anything else, there were shouts and curses, and then the crowd parted as two teachers made their way through. 

Ian was hauled to his feet by the teachers, and then led to the principal’s office.  


  


* * *

  


  
Ian sat slumped in the chair across from the principal, avoiding her disapproving stare.

“Mr. Gallagher.”

“Look, I know, alright?” Ian said tiredly as he rubbed at his eye. “You told me you didn’t want to see me in your office anymore for the rest of the year. I know.”

“And yet, here you are,” Ms. Henderson said bluntly before sighing. “What happened, Ian?” 

Ian finally looked at her, his eyebrows furrowing. “The hell do you think happened? That asshole spray painted the word faggot on Mickey’s locker. The dickhead had it coming!” 

“Watch your language, Mr. Gallagher,” Ms. Henderson snipped. When Ian heaved a heavy sigh and looked away, she continued. “I am fully aware of what Mr. Walters has done, and he will be punished to the fullest extent. What you did was also completely out of line.”

Ian looked at her as if she had grown two heads. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me? Out of line?”

“Ian, you can’t just attack people on school grounds, no matter what the reason.” 

Ian shook his head and let out a dry chuckle. “You didn’t—” he started to say, and then paused. He ran a hand down his face and tried again. “Look, alright… you didn’t see the look on Mickey’s face. He was completely fuckin’ humiliated out there!” 

“I understand that, and I feel for Mr. Milkovich, I really do. That still doesn’t excuse your actions.” Ms. Henderson paused before delivering the blow that Ian had already seen coming. “I’m going to have to suspend you, Ian. A full week.”

Ian hung his head and pressed his thumb and forefinger to his temples. “This is bullshit,” he mumbled.

“I’m afraid it’s about to get a whole lot worse,” Ms. Henderson continued. “You’re being removed from the ROTC program. The behavior that you exhibited today is not tolerated in—”

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” Ian exclaimed, jumping up from his seat. “That asshole paints a disgusting slur on Mickey’s locker, that asshole completely fuckin’ humiliates Mickey in front of the whole goddamn school, and I'm the one in—”

“Mr. Gallagher, I’m going to have to ask you to calm down, or I'll have you expelled,” Ms. Henderson warned, her tone now hard. 

Ian just stared back at her for a handful of seconds before grabbing his backpack and leaving her office, shutting the door hard behind him.  


  


* * *

  


  
Ian called Mickey later that night, asking him to meet at the baseball field in their neighborhood. 

When Ian got to the dugouts, he found Mickey already there, shotgunning a beer. He sat down next to Mickey, close enough so that their shoulders touched. Without a word, he accepted the beer Mickey handed him, and he downed it in four long gulps.

“Thanks,” Ian said with a burp. “I needed that.”

“I have more if you want another,” Mickey said as he stared out across the field. “Brought a whole six pack.”

Ian turned his head and eyed Mickey’s profile, thinking that Mickey looked beautiful. He would never tell Mickey that, of course. 

Mickey finally turned his head and locked eyes with Ian. The dugout was dark; the only light coming from an overhead light a few yards away. 

“You okay?” Ian asked. 

“Been fuckin’ better.” 

“I’m sorry, Mick,” Ian said. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry. You didn’t deserve what that prick did to you.”

Mickey shrugged and took another sip of his beer. “It's just paint. It'll come off.” 

Ian frowned. “No, fuck that. It’s not just paint, Mickey. It was fucking humil—”

“What do you want me to say here, Ian?" Mickey interrupted. "That I’m fuckin’ humiliated? That I’m afraid to show my face in that fuckin’ shit hole again? You want me to cry about it? Kiss your ass for defending me? What the fuck do you want me to say? Some asshole painted a word on my locker. So fuckin’ what?” 

“Oh, drop the fucking act,” Ian said, his face scrunching in irritation. “I saw your face today, Mick.”

“Fuck this,” Mickey said as he stood up, crunching his empty beer can and then tossing it away. 

Ian stood up and grabbed Mickey’s arm, pulling him back. He engulfed Mickey’s face in his large hands and pressed his forehead to Mickey’s. Their breath was hot, quick, and shaky as they pressed into each other. “Mick, don’t go.” 

“I didn’t need a fuckin’ hero today, Ian,” Mickey finally grumbled. “You didn’t need to get yourself fuckin’ suspended on my account.” He pulled out of Ian’s reach. “It was fuckin’ stupid.” 

Ian frowned as he watched Mickey pull away and bend down to grab another beer from his bag. “So sticking up for you was stupid? Giving that fuckin’ asshole what he deserved was stupid?”

“Yes!” Mickey exclaimed, swinging around to face Ian. “It was fucking stupid! I didn’t need you to do that! And how the fuck do you think that looked, huh? Some asshole painting the word faggot on my locker, and then you coming to my goddamn rescue like I’m some bitch that needed saved?” 

Ian stared back at Mickey, his heart thumping miserably in his chest. “That’s what you’re upset about? You’re not upset that he fuckin’ embarrassed you in front of the entire school, you’re upset because people might put two and two together and figure shit out about us? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know, alright!” Mickey exclaimed. “I don’t fuckin’ know how I feel! All I know is that… that I never asked for any of this bullshit! Before you, my life was simple, it was easy. I was alone, by myself, and didn’t have to deal with no one’s shit. Now that I’m with you, I have people spray painting shit on my locker, and people whispering shit about me behind my back, people staring at me. I was invisible before. I was fuckin’ invisible!”

Ian nodded curtly and looked away, not wanting Mickey to see the tears pooling in his eyes. “So, what the fuck are you saying here, Mickey? What do you want to do? You know, since I make your life so fuckin’ hard?”

Mickey opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it. His demeanor seemed to soften as he stared at Ian. “Fuck,” he muttered before stepping forward and wrapping a hand around the back of Ian’s neck. “C’mere. Fuck, I didn’t mean any of that, alright,” he murmured. 

Ian placed his hands on Mickey’s hips and nodded against his forehead. 

“You don’t make my life hard, Ian,” Mickey continued, his voice unusually soft. 

“Mick,” Ian whispered after a long pause, his warm breath ghosting across Mickey’s face. “I did that stuff today because… because I love you.” He felt Mickey stiffen against him and his breath caught in his throat. Ian hadn’t meant to say the words, but they had come out anyway. “I—”

“Don’t,” Mickey said flatly as he pulled away. 

Ian shrugged and slapped his hands softly at his sides as he stared back at Mickey. “I do. I fucking lo—”

“Don’t, Gallagher, I’m fuckin’ warning you.” 

“I love you, Mickey,” Ian finished sternly, undeterred by Mickey’s sharp tone. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. Never thought I could feel like this about anyone. Before you, my life was shit. I had nothing. I was just drifting, didn't care about anything or anyone.” 

As Ian took a step forward, Mickey reached out and held a firm hand to Ian’s chest to stop him. “Shut the fuck up.” 

“I think you might love me, too," Ian said, his eyes searching Mickey's. "And I think you're scared.” 

Mickey’s eyes shot up and he stared back at Ian. His chest heaved with his deep breaths, and his eyes shone with emotion. “I told you not to fuckin’ fall in love with me,” he finally said after a long pause. He slowly lowered his hand from Ian’s chest, allowing Ian to step closer.

Ian cupped Mickey’s face in his hands and smiled gingerly as he smoothed his thumbs along Mickey’s cheeks. “Couldn't help it.”

Mickey let out an unsteady breath, shook his head, and closed his eyes.

“I’m not letting you push me away, Mick. You can try all you want, but I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with my ass.” 

Mickey opened his eyes. He visibly swallowed, and then said, “Ian—”

“Look, you don’t have to say anything right now, Mick,” Ian said, pulling back and turning to grab another beer from Mickey’s bag. “Okay? Let’s just sit here for a little while longer. We don’t have to talk. I just wanna sit here with you. I don’t want to go home just yet.”

“Ian—”

“Fiona’s pissed at me. She won’t even look at me,” Ian continued on as he opened his beer and sat down on the bench. “I can’t blame her, though.”

“Ian.”

“She doesn’t even know about—”

“Ian, will you just shut the fuck up and listen to me!” Mickey exclaimed, causing Ian to jump slightly. 

“Alright, Jesus,” Ian grumbled before taking a sip of his beer. “What?” 

Mickey gnawed on his lower lip, and he hesitated for a few moments before delivering the words that were sure to turn Ian’s whole world upside down.

“I’m sick.”


	9. You Alone Can Break My Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, for a lot of things. I'm sorry for taking so long to update. I'm sorry for making you sad. I'm even sorry for writing this story. When I started writing this back in 2015, I don't think I really thought it through, how heartbreaking it would be. A part of me wishes I never would have started this thing, considering what canon is now. We've all been through enough heartache with these characters. I promise to make it as least painful as possible. One thing I know for certain concerning this fic, is that Ian loves Mickey a fucking lot. Mickey is loved. Hopefully you feel that while reading. Thanks for sticking around <333
> 
> (fyi: this chapter could serve as the ending if you don't want to go through too much heartbreak)

Mickey’s words hung heavily in the air, his heart hammering in his throat as he waited for Ian to react.

Ian took another sip of his beer as he eyed Mickey wearily. “What, you got a stomachache or something?”

“Nah, man,” Mickey said before scrubbing a hand down his face and trying again. “I’m sick.” 

Ian stood up, completely unaware of Mickey’s inner turmoil and the gravity of his words. He crushed his beer can and tossed it into the nearby trash can. “Okay, I’ll walk you home, then.” As he moved to walk past Mickey, he was stopped by a firm hand on his arm. He stared down at Mickey’s hand before slowly lifting his eyes to look into Mickey’s.

The distraught look on Mickey’s face made Ian’s stomach drop. 

“Ian,” Mickey said, his voice stern. He tried again, that time enunciating each word. “I said I’m sick.”

Ian swallowed hard, Mickey’s words finally sinking in. “What do you mean you’re sick?” His voice shook on that last word. 

Mickey visibly swallowed as his eyes searched Ian’s. He kept a firm hold on Ian’s arm to keep him there but remained silent. 

“Mickey, what the fuck do you mean you’re sick?” Ian asked again, his eyes already brimming with tears. “Sick how?”

Mickey reluctantly removed his hand from Ian’s arm and ran it through his hair. He dropped his eyes to the ground and gnawed on his lower lip, unable to look Ian in the eyes. “I’m sick.”

“Yeah, you said that about ten fucking times already,” Ian snapped. “Now tell me what the hell that means.”

Mickey scrubbed a hand down his face and slowly sat down on the bench. 

“Mick, if you don’t tell me right fuckin’ now, I'll—”

“I have leukemia.”

The silence that ensued was deafening.

“Leukemia?” Ian repeated after a long pause. “What… how…? You have… leukemia?” His voice broke on that last word.

“I was diagnosed a couple of years ago,” Mickey explained glumly. “Stage four. I… I stopped responding to the treatments.” 

“No,” Ian said, shaking his head adamantly. “No, fuck that. You’re lying. You’re seventeen. You’re perfect.”

Mickey immediately stood up when Ian’s voice shook and cupped his hands around Ian’s face. “Ian, listen to me—”

Ian shook his head and backed away from Mickey’s touch. “So, what?” he asked, his tone stiff. “Does this… does this mean you’re dying?”

Mickey swallowed thickly and didn’t answer, his facial expression was answer enough. 

“You’re dying,” Ian exclaimed, his voice cracking. “You’re fucking dying, and you tell me this now? After I fall in love with—” He turned around and kicked at Mickey’s backpack, sending it skidding across the dirt ground.

“Ian,” Mickey said, reaching for his boyfriend, but getting denied once again. They were both crying openly by then. “Fuck, I wanted to tell you sooner, but I—”

“But you what, huh?” Ian snapped, spinning to face him.

“I didn’t… I didn’t think it would get this far,” Mickey responded sadly after a heavy pause. “I didn’t know that we’d… that it would get this deep.” 

Ian stared back at him, tears rolling down his cheeks. “And you thought now was the best time to tell me? After I tell you that I love you? You couldn’t tell me this sooner? The fuck, Mickey!”

“Fuck, I… I tried to keep you away,” Mickey mumbled as he rubbed at his eye. 

“Oh. Oh! So this is my fault, huh? You tried to keep me away, but I pushed and fucking pushed, right?” Ian yelled. “I just wouldn’t take the hint, so you decided to just string me along and—”

“Fuck you, I strung you along!” Mickey exclaimed, pushing hard at Ian’s chest, causing Ian to stumble backwards. “I fuckin’ told you! I told you I didn’t want a friend! I told you I wanted to be left the fuck alone, but you didn’t fucking listen! You didn’t let it the fuck go! I was fine before you! I accepted it! I was fucking fine!” Mickey was sobbing then and resisted Ian’s embrace when Ian stepped forward to reach for him.

“Fuck you!” Mickey yelled, pushing Ian again.

Ian finally pulled a struggling Mickey to him and cradled Mickey against his chest. “Mick—”

Mickey finally gave in and slumped into Ian’s embrace. He cried against the front of Ian’s shirt. “Fuck you,” he mumbled. 

Ian held Mickey tight as they both cried.

  


* * *

  


A little while later, Ian and Mickey were sitting side by side on the bench; both of them silent, both lost in their own dark thoughts.

Finally, Ian spoke first, his tone sullen. “So, you are. You’re dying.”

“Ian.” 

“It’s okay,” Ian muttered. “I can handle it. I want to know. I need to know.” 

“Yeah,” Mickey finally answered, his voice hollow. “I’m dying.” 

Ian visibly swallowed hard a few times before murmuring, “That’s why Mandy has been so weird about everything; why she wanted to keep me away from you.”

Mickey just nodded.

“I don’t get it,” Ian said after a pause, his voice unsteady. “Why did you stop responding to treatments?”

“Didn’t like how the chemo made me feel. I was sick all the time, didn’t feel like myself anymore." Mickey cleared his throat before adding, "Didn’t have the insurance or the money to keep doing it.” 

“Money? You stopped getting treatment because of money?” Ian exclaimed. “Christ, Mickey, I’m sure you could have gotten the money somehow. You could’ve tried to—”

“Do you have any idea how much that shit costs?” Mickey interrupted. “I’m a poor, good-for-nothing piece of South Side trash. No one was going to give me money. And it wasn’t just about the fuckin’ money. I told you, I hated how I felt.”

“So, you’re just giving up? You’re not even going to fight?” Ian asked, standing up. 

“I didn’t have any reason to fight before,” Mickey retorted, staring up at Ian, his words heavy with meaning. 

Ian swallowed thickly and blinked back tears. “And now it’s too late, isn’t it? You finally have a reason to fight, and now it’s too late.” 

Mickey just stared back, not saying anything.

“How long?” Ian asked, his words shaky. 

“Don’t know,” Mickey answered sullenly. “A year, maybe two.”

Ian tossed his head back, and then he turned his back to Mickey. He rubbed at his eyes and let out a slow, shaky exhale, his heart completely shattering in his chest.

“Ian,” Mickey said after a short pause. “Look, you’re… you’re off the hook, alright?”

Ian turned back around to look at him, the devastation he felt evident on his face. “What do you mean I’m off the hook?”

“Look, I get it. You’re seventeen, you have the whole rest of your life ahead of you,” Mickey said. “You don’t need this shit. You don’t need to put your life on hold for me. This is my shit to deal with, not yours. You didn’t ask for any of this.”

“Neither did you, Mickey,” Ian said solemnly.

Mickey rubbed a hand over his mouth and looked away from Ian’s intense stare. “Maybe it’s best if you just walked away now. Cut your losses while you still can.”

“I just,” Ian began, and then he paused. “I just need some time to think about everything. I, fuck, I need time to process everything. I'll call you tomorrow.” Ian turned to go but was stopped by Mickey’s sullen voice.

“Ian.”

Ian closed his eyes and his shoulders slumped, already having a pretty good idea what was coming next. 

“I’m not giving you a choice here,” Mickey continued, his voice wavering. “I’m letting you go. I’m not going to sit back and let you suffer, let you go through this.”

“So, I don’t even get a fucking choice in this?” Ian spun around, suddenly angry.

“No,” Mickey said, “you don’t.”

“Fuck you!” Ian yelled. “Fuck you, Mickey! You can’t just… you can’t just make me fall in love with you, then break my fuckin’ heart, and not even give me a choice to…to… ”

“To what, Ian?” Mickey bellowed. “Sit back and watch me fuckin’ die?”

Ian visibly recoiled at Mickey’s harsh words, but he said nothing.

“I’m letting you go,” Mickey continued after a tense pause, tears still brimming his eyes. “We're done. I can’t… I won’t be selfish… not with you.” 

“Yeah? Too fuckin’ late,” Ian finally mumbled before turning and walking away.

  


* * *

  


Ian walked around the neighborhood for almost a whole hour, his mind racing and his heart pounding, as he tried to make sense of everything Mickey had said to him.

Mickey was dying. Mickey was sick. Ian had fallen hopelessly in love with Mickey, his first real love, and soon it would be over. Mickey would be gone. 

He was pissed off. Pissed off at Mickey for keeping everything from him. Pissed off at himself for falling in love so carelessly. Pissed off in general, because Mickey was the most amazing person he knew, and he didn’t deserve any of the bullshit he was going through.

Deciding it was getting late, and wanting nothing more than to curl up in a ball for the night and cry himself to sleep, Ian entered the Gallagher home and slumped back against the door. He stared blankly ahead at nothing. As soon as Ian spotted Fiona at the bottom of the steps, his resolve cracked and his face crumpled.

“Ian?” Fiona asked, her eyes wide and her concern evident. “Ian? The hell happened? Are you okay?”

Ian let out a sob, strode over to his sister, and fell into her open arms.

“Ian, fuck… what’s wrong?” Fiona asked, holding him. “What the hell happened?”

“Mickey,” Ian stammered as he cried against her shoulder. “He’s sick. He’s dying.”

Fiona froze a little when Ian’s words registered, and then she was rubbing his back and kissing the side of his head. “I’m so sorry, sweetface.”

Ian didn’t say anything, just continued to cry and tried to take comfort in his big sister’s embrace.

  


* * *

  


Mandy opened the door the next evening, surprised to find Ian Gallagher standing on their porch. After everything Mickey had told her—about Ian finally knowing the truth, and Mickey pushing him away for Ian’s own good—she had expected Ian to stay away. She wouldn’t have really blamed him if he had.

She leaned against the doorframe and inspected his face, his eyes red and brimming with tears. He looked like hell, like he hadn’t slept in days. Her heart broke for him, but she knew it was for the best that Mickey had ended things. It was easier that way, for both of them. 

“Mickey’s sleeping.”

Ian nodded and shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, seemingly avoiding her eyes. He opened his mouth a couple times, seemingly trying to find the right words to say. “I’m not going anywhere," he finally managed to choke out. "Can you… can you just tell him that? Please?”

“Ian, I know this is a lot to handle,” Mandy began, “and no one would blame you if you walked away. You don’t have to stay and—”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Ian said with more finality, finally looking her in the eye. Without waiting for her to say anything else, he turned and walked off the porch.

Mandy watched after him, and then swiped at the tear that slowly trickled down her cheek. Ian wasn’t going anywhere. He loved her brother. Truth be told, deep down, she had been really fucking hoping he did.

  


* * *

  


“Pills,” Mandy said the next morning as she stood over Mickey’s bed.

Mickey took the pills with no fuss, and then pulled the covers back over his head when he was finished.

Mandy placed the glass of water on Mickey’s bedside table. “Ian was here last night.” When Mickey didn’t say anything, she continued. “He looked like a fuckin’ wreck.” Still, Mickey remained silent. “He told me to tell you he’s not going anywhere.” 

“Close the door on your way out,” Mickey muttered from under the blankets. 

“I think he loves you,” Mandy said, her voice wavering. “Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to keep him around? He makes you happy.”

Mickey didn’t reply.

Mandy decided to drop the topic for the time being. 

Once Mickey was alone, he pulled the blanket away from his face and stared up at his cracked ceiling with bleary eyes.

  


* * *

  


“He does.”

Mandy looked up from the TV to find Mickey standing there, looking pale and weak and fragile. She swallowed hard at the sight. "He does what?"

Mickey's eyebrows shot up and he tongued at the corner of his mouth before saying, "Make me happy."

Mandy stared back, waiting for him to continue.

“I haven’t… fuck… I haven’t felt that happy in a really long fuckin’ time.”

Mandy watched as Mickey rubbed nervously at his lip as he forced back tears. Always trying to appear brave even when he didn’t have to be. 

“But I can’t do this to him. I can’t let him sit around and watch me die. He… he’s so fucking full of life and…fuckin’ …beautiful. I can’t let him—” Mickey paused, a sob finally escaping.

Mandy stood up from the couch and strode over to her brother. She pulled him in for a hug, feeling him resist at first, and then he gave in to it.

“I can’t do that to him,” Mickey murmured against her shoulder. “Fuck, Mandy.”

“Shh, I know,” Mandy said as held her brother for the first time in a really long fucking time. “I know.”

  


* * *

  


The next day, Mandy’s phone went off while she was cooking breakfast. She wiped her greasy hands off on a nearby towel before answering. “What?”

“Hey, it’s Ian… Gallagher.”

Mandy couldn’t help smiling a little at the dumb kid’s nervousness. “Hey, Ian Gallagher.”

“Is, um, is Mickey there?” Ian continued. “I… I just wanted to make sure he was okay. He’s not answering my texts or calls. I'm worried about him."

Mandy sat down on a nearby chair, her heart hurting a little because of Ian’s desperate tone. She understood why Mickey was pushing Ian away, she really did. Still, she couldn’t help but sympathize with the kid. “He’s okay,” she answered. “He’s just… taking a few days off from everything. Needs to reset a little.”

Ian was silent for a moment before saying, “He still doesn’t want to see me?”

Mandy chewed on her lower lip, trying to figure out the best way to let Ian down easy. “He doesn’t really want to see anyone right now, it's not just you.”

Ian was silent again for a beat before asking, “Did you tell him what I said? About me not going anywhere?”

“Yeah, I… I told him.” At that exact moment, Mickey came walking into the kitchen, halting in his step when Mandy’s words hit his ears. He looked at her, his eyes sad. He sat down in the chair adjacent to her and scrubbed a hand down his face.

“What did he say?” Ian asked.

“Ian.”

Ian sighed a little. “Right. I know. I won’t push him. But I’m still not going anywhere. Can you tell him…tell him that I love him.”

Mandy’s eyes flitted to Mickey’s, Ian’s words surprising her. “Tell him that you love him?” She watched as Mickey rubbed at his mouth, Ian’s words clearly affecting him. “I will.” She watched as Mickey stood up and left the room. 

“Thanks,” Ian replied solemnly.

“Don’t give up on him,” Mandy said once she was alone, the words just pouring out. She was surprised with herself. Days ago, she wanted Mickey and Ian to have nothing to do with each other. Now that she knew Ian loved her brother, she knew she couldn’t let Ian walk away. Mickey needed all the love and happiness he could get. “He’s going to push you away, probably say a lot of hurtful shit, but he doesn't mean any of it. He needs you. He won’t admit it, but he does.”

“I won’t give up.”

  


* * *

  


The next day, Mickey opened the front door to retrieve the mail, only to find a few dozen roses on the porch. “The fuck? Mandy! The hell’s this shit doing on the porch? Do you have another fuckin’ stalker or something?”

Mandy appeared behind him a second later, her eyebrows furrowing. “Not that I know of.” She stooped down to grab a small card from one of the bouquets. She smiled before handing the card to Mickey.

“Persistent little shithead, isn’t he?” Mandy said, patting Mickey lightly on the back before going back inside the house. 

Mickey stared down at the card, Ian’s sloppy handwriting instantly recognizable: _you’re not getting rid of me that easily. you should know that by now_

Mickey chewed on the inside of his cheek, pocketed the card, and then followed Mandy inside, absolutely refusing to let her know that his heart was thundering in his chest. “Fuckin’ roses? What kind of guy sends another dude fuckin’ roses.”

“I think it’s sweet.”

“You know, I don’t fuckin’ get you,” Mickey snapped. “Three days ago, you were telling me to stay away from the kid. Now you think he’s sweet?”

“That was before he knew the truth,” Mandy pointed out, “and before I knew he loves you.”

Mickey could feel the unwanted blush on his cheeks, and he dropped his head and turned his back to his sister.

“You love him, too, don’t you?”

“Fuck off.”

“You do," Mandy said with certainty. "You love him.”

Mickey rubbed at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “Doesn’t… doesn’t fuckin’ matter.”

“Of course it matters!”

“No the fuck it doesn’t!” Mickey suddenly bellowed, spinning to face his sister. “Just fuckin’ drop it, Mandy. I was fine before I met him. I was fuckin’ okay with it all. I accepted all the bullshit! I don’t… I’m dying. He doesn’t deserve to go through that. He… how we feel about each other, doesn’t mean shit, because my ass will still be six feet fucking under in a couple years.” He stared at his sister’s forlorn expression before turning and punching the cabinet next to him. “Fuck!”

Silence engulfed the room as Mickey cradled his bloody, aching hand against his chest.

“You done now?” Mandy asked. “Feel better?” 

Mickey shot her a baleful glare before heading to his room. He slammed the door shut, and then flung himself backwards on his bed. He heard his phone vibrate on his bedside table, and hesitated for a second before looking at the text, already knowing who it was from. Through bleary eyes, he read Ian’s message: _ur the best thing that’s ever happened to me_

A second later, another message came through: _im not going anywhere. ill be here whenever u need me_

Mickey tossed his phone towards the bottom of his bed and scrubbed a hand down his face. 

“Fuck.”

  


* * *

  


Two days later, Ian walked into the school, holding his head high, even though the thought of running into Kent, Brian, or Steve unnerved him. He didn’t know what he’d do the next time he saw those assholes. Considering the mood he'd been in the past few days, he was afraid of what he’d do.

It was his first day back since his suspension, and, judging by the stares and whispers being thrown his way, he was still at the top of the gossip mill. He hung his head and continued on to his locker. He glanced towards Mickey’s locker on the way. He hadn’t expected to see Mickey there, but he was still disappointed when he didn’t spot him. He took note of the fact that someone had painted over the awful slur word, thankfully. 

He reached his locker and lazily turned the combination dial. Once his locker was open, he stuck his head inside and finally let out a deep, shaky sigh. He blinked back tears and composed himself before straightening up and retrieving his books. 

When he shut his locker, he jumped and let out a surprised yelp when he found Mandy Milkovich standing beside him, her arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against the neighboring locker. “Jesus, Mandy. You scared the shit out of me!”

“Sorry,” Mandy said, even though she didn’t really seem too sorry. 

Ian ran a hand through his hair as he regarded her. “What’s up?” Unable to help it, his eyes averted over her shoulder in the hopes that Mickey was standing behind her. He wasn’t.

“First day back from suspension?”

“Yeah,” Ian answered. “Where’s, uh… where’s Mickey? Is he here today?”

“He had an early doctor’s appointment this morning,” Mandy replied. “He’ll be here later.” 

Ian nodded and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Does he… you think he’d want to see me?” 

It had been over a week since Mickey had told Ian he was sick; since Mickey had ended things. Ian had called, and texted, and showed up at the Milkovich house on the off chance that Mickey was finally willing to see him, but it had all been to no avail. Mickey was completely shutting him out. Still, Ian wasn’t going to stop trying. 

Mandy sighed and hefted her backpack higher on her shoulder. “I don’t know,” she finally said after a pause. “I know I told you to not give up on him, but maybe just give him some space—”

“That’s all I’ve been doing is giving him space!” Ian bellowed, causing a few of his fellow classmates to glance his way. He then lowered his voice and tried again. “I’m giving him space. It’s been over a week now, and he won't even—”

“He’s hurting right now.”

“So am I!”

“Yeah, well, your feelings don’t matter as much as his does right now!” Mandy exclaimed. Her blue eyes clouded over with unshed tears. “He’s struggling right now. He’s hurting. Just… give him some space. Don’t crowd him. Give him time.” 

“We don’t—” Ian began, his voice shaky. "We don't have time."

Mandy opened her mouth, and then closed it when the weight of Ian’s words hit her. She blinked back her tears and glanced away. “I have to go,” she mumbled before brushing past Ian and continuing down the hallway.

Ian turned and watched after her, his own eyes brimming with tears. He then caught someone staring a few lockers down. “Got a fuckin’ problem?” he snapped. Without waiting for a response, he continued down the hall. He could feel himself slowly starting to unravel. He knew that, if he intended to be strong for Mickey, he had to pull himself together, no matter how hard it was proving to be.

  


* * *

  


A little while later, Mickey rounded the corner and froze in his step when he spotted Ian by his locker. Ian must have felt eyes on him because he looked up in that instant and locked eyes with Mickey.

“Mick,” Ian called out.

Before Ian could say anything, Mickey turned on his heel and rounded back the way he came. He wasn’t ready to face Ian just yet. Before he could get too far, though, Ian grabbed his arm from behind and pulled him into a nearby, empty stairwell. 

“Ian, stop,” Mickey said, roughly pulling his arm from Ian’s grip. "Just fucking stop!"

“So, what?” Ian began, his eyes searching Mickey’s. “You’re not even gonna talk to me? I don’t even get a conversation?”

“I can’t do this with you,” Mickey answered miserably, scratching at the back of his neck. He found that it hurt to look at Ian, so he focused his stare on the middle of Ian’s chest.

“I know you need space,” Ian began. “I get that, I do, but… ”

“Do you?” Mickey bellowed. “Do you really fucking get that? Because you haven’t left me the fuck alone since you found out.”

Ian swallowed visibly a few times when Mickey finally looked at him. “This isn’t fair to me,” he muttered.

“None of it’s fuckin’ fair,” Mickey snapped. Even though he wanted nothing more than to pull Ian into his arms, he refrained, knowing he had to keep up the pretense that he didn’t want Ian anymore. “Life’s not fair. Trust me, I know that fucking better than anybody.” He locked eyes with Ian then. He felt his resolve slowly starting to crack as they stood in the empty stairwell, the air thick around them. 

Ian reached forward and gently stroked Mickey’s cheek.

Mickey closed his eyes, exhaled shakily, and pressed his cheek against Ian’s palm. “Fuck…”

"I miss you," Ian murmured. "I miss talking to you. I miss kissing you."

"Ian."

"I miss my best friend."

Mickey opened his eyes and visibly swallowed. "Don't."

The bell rang then, breaking the moment. Moments later, the stairwell filled with students, the crowd jostling Ian and Mickey apart.

Ian could only watch as Mickey turned and walked away from him. 

  


* * *

  


By lunchtime, Ian was absolutely miserable. Despite his best efforts to not stare at Mickey, he found himself looking in Mickey’s direction every other minute. Mickey was sitting on the other side of the crowded cafeteria, eating lunch with Mandy, and he hadn’t looked Ian’s way once. 

It really was over. Mickey didn’t want anything to do with him.

“What’s up, faggot?”

Ian sighed and kept miserably forking through his mashed potatoes, not bothering to look up. He knew running into Kent at school was inevitable. He’d been hoping he’d get to eat his meal first. “I’m not in the mood for your shit, Kent. Fuck off.”

Kent ignored Ian’s request and placed his palms flat on the table so that he could lean in closer, even though he kept his words loud enough for everyone to hear. “What’s the matter, homo? Your boyfriend dump your sorry ass? You played knight in shining armor for nothing?” He then leaned in a little more. “Your dick really that bad that even slum boy got sick of it?”

“You seem to have a fascination with my dick, Kent. Sure you’re not the faggot?” Ian snapped, silently chastising himself for falling into the asshole’s trap. 

“Don’t you wish.”

Ian shot Kent another baleful glare before looking back down at his food.

“You know, I almost feel sorry for you,” Kent continued. “You gave up your friends, ROTC, for what? A little piece of ass. Look where you are now. Alone… with no one. You’re nothing. You've always been nothing, Gallagher. The only reason anyone in this shithole ever gave a damn about your sorry ass is because of me.”

“Back the fuck up,” Ian snapped, lifting his dark eyes to Kent’s.

"Oh, gonna cry?" Kent taunted. "You really are pathetic."

Ian didn't say anything, just stared back at Kent, his jaw flexed, refusing to cry.

Kent laughed bitterly, and then he spat in Ian’s mashed potatoes before turning and walking away.

Ian could feel everyone in the cafeteria watching him, their whispers deafening. He shook his head gently and stared down at his potatoes, trying with everything in him to keep his tears at bay. He dropped his fork and rubbed a hand down his face. He could feel himself begin to break.

“Get up.”

Ian looked up, his eyebrows furrowing when he saw Mickey suddenly standing next to his table. “Wh—what?”

“I said get the fuck up.”

Ian braced his hands on the table and slowly stood up, completely taken off guard by Mickey’s presence. “Mickey…”

Before Ian could say anything else, Mickey wrapped a hand around the nape of Ian’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss. The kiss was sweet and soft, their lips fitting together perfectly. It wasn’t hungry or desperate or intense, but it still took Ian’s breath away. He pulled away from the kiss first and tapped his forehead to Mickey’s. “Everyone’s watching us,” he breathed after a few heartbeats. 

“Let them,” Mickey murmured back. “The fuck do I care?” He entwined the fingers of his left hand with the fingers of Ian’s right hand, and then pulled back to look Ian in the eye. “Let’s go.” 

Ian nodded dumbly, grabbed his bookbag, and allowed Mickey to drag him towards the exit, but not before roughly shoving past a dumbfounded Kent on the way out.

Once they were outside the cafeteria, the hallway empty around them, Mickey tugged Ian’s arm so that Ian stumbled against him. “C’mere,” Mickey muttered right before their lips touched.

Ian dropped his bag to the floor and wrapped his arms around Mickey’s waist, holding him closer. He sighed into the sweet kiss, relief washing through him.

Mickey scrubbed his fingers through Ian’s hair before engulfing Ian’s face with both of his hands. He pulled away from the kiss and rested his forehead against Ian’s. “This is so fuckin’ stupid,” he whispered.

“You’re stupid,” Ian whispered back, his hands clutching at the back of Mickey’s shirt. 

“You’re only gonna get hurt,” Mickey muttered as his thumbs slowly stroked Ian’s cheeks. 

“I don’t care,” Ian uttered. “I wanna be with you, Mickey.” He pulled back to look into Mickey’s eyes. “I love you.”

Mickey nodded once, then leaned back in. He closed his eyes and sighed heavily as he ran his hands gently up and down Ian’s biceps. 

Ian tilted Mickey’s chin up and kissed him again. He wanted to kiss Mickey every second of whatever time they had left. He was determined to show Mickey just how much he loved him. For the rest of Mickey’s life, he would know he was loved. Ian wasn’t sure about a lot of things, but he was sure about that.


End file.
